


Break My Body, Hold My Bones

by lexwing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Brotherhood of Mutants, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Medical Experimentation, Mutant Powers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1596338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexwing/pseuds/lexwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post TWS, the Winter Solider ends up in the hands of the one person who has absolutely no intention of helping him: Magneto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Malpractice Assurance

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: As much as I’ve been really enjoying the “Cap, Bucky, and the Avengers” and “Bucky feels” fics on here (and I have!) I thought I’d go in a completely different direction with this one. May eventually become a Cap/X-Men crossover fic, but not in the way you might expect. Trigger warnings for violence, past torture, medical malpractice, mild sexual content, threats of sexual violence, mutant issues, world domination schemes, and just general darkness.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except Dr. Bennett and a few of the minor characters.
> 
> Please read and review, and let me know if I should add more chapters!

_I’m the hard looser_

_You’ll find me crashing through my mother’s door_

_I am the ugly lover_

_You’ll find us rolling on the dirty floor._

_I’m a belly dancer_

_I’ll shake forever and I’ll never care_

_I’m a building jumper_

_Roof to roof you see me flying in the air_

 

\--“Break My Body, Hold My Bones,” Pixies

 

Ch. 1: Malpractice Assurance

 

   What good is a blade without a handle?

   What good is a bullet without a gun?

   What good is any weapon, without someone to wield it?

   Without a mission, the Winter Soldier was nothing, and no one.

   He certainly wasn’t that fresh-faced boy he’d seen in the museum, all smiles and laughs, joking around with his friends on the grainy black and white newsreel footage. 

   The face may have been the similar to the one the Soldier saw the rare times he looked in a mirror.  But that’s where the resemblance stopped.  When the Soldier searched his mind for something else to connect him to Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes other than that face, he couldn’t find anything. 

   His heart, if he had a heart, and he wasn’t sure he did, felt nothing for or about Sgt. Barnes.

   Of course, there was the added complication of the Man in Blue, the one the Soldier had left wounded and gasping on the riverbank.  That man was in the footage, too.  Also laughing, also smiling.

   You’re my friend, the Man in Blue had insisted.

   You’re my mission, the Soldier had told him.

   Without a mission, the Winter Soldier wasn’t even the Winter Soldier anymore.

   He’d made up his mind then and there, standing in the museum surrounded by strangers, that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—lose that identity, too.

   So he gave himself a mission.

* * *

 

   For someone who had always been told where to go, and who to kill when he got there, the Soldier found he had absolutely no trouble coming up with a mission of his own. He contemplated it during the long nights when he couldn’t sleep, turning it over and over in his mind.  He decided he liked his plan very much.

   His handlers had always provided him with cash on his missions, in case he needed it.  He never had before. 

   But now he found it to be just enough to bribe his way onto a cargo plane bound for Europe.  The pilot might have been running drugs, or guns, or both; frankly, the Soldier didn’t care.  What mattered to him was getting back to where he could pick up Hydra’s trail.

   The Soldier knew that what was done couldn’t be undone.  Although he remembered very little else he remembered pain: punches in the face; cracked ribs; the stab of needles and of electro-shocks that burned through his brain, wiping away anything, everything…

   Hydra had killed that boy in the museum.  And it seemed only fitting to the Solider that his ghost should be the one that made them all pay.

* * *

 

   In the two months that followed there were five mysterious deaths of former high-ranking Soviet officials.  The one in France looked like an accidental drowning, except grown men usually didn’t drown in their own bathtubs.   Two had been in St. Petersburg: one a car accident on an otherwise empty road, and one an unsolved shooting.  The rest had been scattered in other countries but were equally puzzling to authorities.  

   That was followed by a wave of mysterious attacks on a range of facilities across Eastern Europe.  A climate change research center just outside of Warsaw was hit; then a contagious diseases lab near Bucharest.  Each was nearly destroyed, the staff either dead or missing.  In each case whatever data the facility was producing was also destroyed.

   Again, authorities were baffled.

* * *

 

   The Winter Soldier found he remembered more than he had expected.  Hydra had not been able to wipe his memory after the incident in DC.  And even as many times as they had wiped him in the past (how many times?  Best not to contemplate that for very long, he decided) he found he was able to reconstruct bits and pieces into a whole.  Faces, names, the rough location of facilities where he’d been contained: it might all be a jumble, but the information was there.

    The fat KBG agent who’d once put out his cigar on the side of the Soldier’s face, laughing with his friends as he did so?  Dead.

   The doctor who’d once peeled the skin and flesh away from the Soldier’s ribcage without anesthetic, to see how his cybernetic arm was attached to his spine?  Also dead.

   The secret Hydra facility in Warsaw where his previous metal arm had been ripped from him, also without anesthetic, and replaced with his current one?  Destroyed.

   The Soldier didn’t take any joy in what he was doing, but it felt right.  It felt like justice.

   He suspected the Man in Blue would disagree.

   But the Soldier didn’t know the Man in Blue.  So he didn’t care what he thought.

* * *

 

   _Cut off its head, two more will grow in its place._

   The Winter Solider also knew his days were numbered.  Hydra was big, far bigger than anyone back in the States had yet realized.  Its tentacles were vast and buried deep.

   He was relieved that so far neither the Man in Blue nor any of his friends had come after him.

   The Soldier had decided he didn’t want to kill the Man in Blue or his friends.  Not yet, anyway.

   The Soldier successfully eluded Hydra for several more weeks, killing or incapacitating those agents foolish enough to get in his way.  Some of whom he suspected he may have trained. But no matter.

   It took more than two dozen of them to finally bring him down.  Agents shot him, stabbed him.  They overloaded his cybernetic arm, which hadn’t worked quite right since DC, with an electric shock probe until it hung limp and motionless at his side.

   Even so he was able to inflict an enormous amount of damage to them before he went down.

   He took a cold but fierce satisfaction in that.   

* * *

 

  

   He was taken to another of Hydra’s underground facilities, although this one he didn’t think he’d ever been in before. 

   They didn’t wipe him immediately, as he’d anticipated.  Instead they chained him up in a stress position, on the tips of his toes with his arms pulled out backwards behind him.  It was a position designed not only to cause agony to the body but to permit no rest.

   Not that the Solider had any intention of resting anyway.

   He’d kept fighting every step of the way, and even now, immobilized, he swore at his captors as they stood around him with their guns.  The doctors scurried about like he was a wild animal they didn’t know what to do with now they had him.  Which, he reflected, was probably the case.

   The Solider was surprised at how many swear words he knew.  He’d started out in Russian, and when those had gotten old he’d lapsed into French and Arabic, Polish and German.  He hadn’t even known he knew any French or German. 

   He found that hurtling abuse in English felt particularly satisfactory.  He wasn’t sure why, unless perhaps it was the ghost of that Brooklyn boy momentarily possessing him.

   “Jesus Christ, can’t we shut him up?”  One agent complained to another.

   “Prokofiev tried gagging him.  He’ll be lucky if the surgeons can save his fingers,” another replied.

   “We could sedate him,” one doctor, a middle-aged, balding man, suggested.   “At least until Dr. Lukin arrives.”

   “I’m not going near him,” the other doctor, a cold-eyed brunette woman, responded.  “You do it.”

   One guard tried punching him in the face repeatedly, but that only made the Soldier grimly smile.

   The other people in the room found a smiling Winter Soldier, who had never shown any facial expressions of any kind before, even more alarming than a swearing one.

   “The asset has been out of the ice too long,” the male doctor fretted aloud.  “The programming is going haywire.”

   “Get that freak doctor down here and make her sedate it,” the female doctor finally suggested as she studied her painted fingernails.  “She deals with kicking and screaming patients all day long.”

   “That’s a good idea,” the other doctor said with a relieved exhale.  He gestured for one of the guards to leave the room, no doubt to fetch her.

   The Solider ignored them.  He had heard what he’d wanted to hear.

   Dr. Lukin was coming.

   Of all the people the Soldier wanted dead, Aleksander Lukin was currently at the top of his list.

   The Soldier didn’t believe he’d get out of the building alive.  But at least he would have the satisfaction of being face-to-face with the good doctor again and telling him that in spite of it all _he remembered_...

   “I’ve got my own ward full of patients to deal with, Sholto.  What the hell are you bothering me for?”  A new voice finally demanded.

   The Soldier glanced up again.

   Another woman, this one wearing the same dull grey lab coat as the others, had entered the room.  She glanced over at the Solider with the same clinical indifference the other doctors had shown.  But unlike the others she spoke English with an American, not a European, accent

    "We need that thing over there sedated," the male doctor--Sholto-- told her

   “I see.  And that’s my problem because…?”

   “Just do it, mutie,” one of the senior agents told her, gesturing vaguely in her direction with his weapon.

   “That’s ‘Dr. Mutie’,” she corrected crisply.  “And fuck you.” 

   “But, fine.  If the Baron gets on my case about leaving my post I’m blaming you guys.” She sighed, reaching into the pocket of her lab coat and producing a small bottle and a syringe. 

   She prepped the dosage, carefully studying the marks on the side of the needle as it filled.

   She stepped closer to the Soldier, brandishing the hypo in her right hand.

   “If you lash out at me in any way I’ll jam this into your eye,” she told him.

   The Soldier just blinked.

   “Is that enough to quiet him down?”  A guard asked.

   The doctor gave him a cold glare from over her shoulder.  “This is pentobarbital with a lorazepam chaser.  It would quiet a rampaging elephant.  In a few seconds his breathing will slow way down and he’ll get extremely sleepy.  Even you should be able to handle him then.”

   With a surprisingly deft movement, and before he could jerk his head away, she inserted the needle into his neck.

   The Soldier gritted his teeth against the feel of the warm liquid being pushed through his skin, but it was over almost before it had begun.

   “There.” She dropped the hypo back into her pocket.  “Problem solved.”   

    The Soldier waited a moment.

   He felt no different.

   He made a conscious effort to slow his breathing down, and to let himself relax ever so slightly against his restraints.  His head dropped.  With his long hair in his eyes he could no longer see everyone in the room, but he could hear them just fine.

   “See?  What did I tell you?”  One of the agents said.  “That shut him up.”

   “Thank you, Dr. Bennett,” Sholto said.  “I’ll be sure and let Dr. Lukin know how cooperative you’ve been.”

   “Whatever.  Just don’t bother me again,” she said to the other doctors as she swept out of the room.

   The Soldier wasn’t sure what this new development meant. 

   But the Soldier knew to not ask too many questions.  He knew how to wait for the right moment.  His handlers had beaten those lessons into him again and again over the years.

   So he remained quiet.

   And he waited.

* * *

  
   Two stories below, the mutant called Caliban lay curled on his side in the narrow bunk.

   Like the other “volunteers,” as Hydra called them, when he wasn’t being poked and prodded in the lab he was confined to a room barely eight feet long and five feet wide.  There were no windows, but that didn’t matter: he’d lost track of time long ago.

   As he often did at night he comforted himself by rocking back and forth, hugging his pale, scrawny arms about his thin chest.

   “Caliban?”

   He felt rather than saw his friend sit down on the edge of the bunk.

   “Go away,” he whispered.  “Caliban’s head hurts.”  He reinforced this statement by banging a fist against his forehead.

   “I know, Caliban, but I need you to do something for me.”

   “You promised you’d take Caliban home,” he whimpered.  “You promised.”

   “I know, and I always keep my promises.  You remember that about me, don’t you?”

   He blinked his oversize eyes.  His memory wasn’t very good, but that did sound correct.

   “Remember New York City in the fall, Caliban?  All the leaves will be changing soon.  Remember Central Park?  That dirty water hot dog cart near the west entrance you liked so much?”

   His stomach growled in response. 

   He remembered hot dogs.  The cart owner had thrown out the unsold ones at the end of the day.  Caliban had often fished them out of the trash and sated his hunger on them.  The food Hydra gave him was bland and tasteless in comparison to a New York City frankfurter.

      “I promise we’ll get out of here soon,” his friend told him.  “But first I need you to try and reach him for me again.  It’s urgent.  Please try, Caliban.  Please.”

  He thought about it for a long moment.  Finally his nodded his large head.  “Caliban will try.”

   He held out one hand, his white, spatula-like fingers seizing his friend’s hand.  He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift away from the grimy cell. 

   His friend’s breathing grew slow and steady as Caliban used his abilities to reach out and connect his friend with the outside world.

    Hydra had not learned he could do this.  They only knew he could locate other mutants.  They had tricked and abused him, forcing him to help them find suitable subjects for their experiments.  Hydra was so fixated on exploiting those they regarded as subhumans that it hadn’t occurred to them to even wonder if a mutant could have more than one power.

   _The day of reckoning is coming soon_ , he often whispered to himself when the Hydra guards weren’t listening.  He chanted it in his mind like a prayer, or a curse, or both.

   And so Caliban maintained the connection for his friend, and he, too, waited.

  

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 


	2. Of Mercy and Mystique

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Mother's Day! And since Mystique is a mother (although by all accounts a truly terrible one) I thought it appropriate she should make her first appearance in this chapter.
> 
> Please read and review; it's really does help keep me going!

Ch. 2: Of Mercy and Mystique

 

   The Soldier didn’t sleep in his chains, but he rested.  His body was restrained but his mind was clear. 

   He knew they were keeping him like this deliberately, depriving him of even water to drink, as a first step in breaking him back down.

   He smiled through cracked lips.

   That was the only good thing about being broken so many times before.  You knew all the tricks.

   By his reckoning another twelve hours passed before anyone other than guards entered his prison.

   The arrival wasn’t who he’d wanted to see.

   Vassily Roschenko was only a cog in Lukin’s machine, only a bit player in the creation of Hydra’s ultimate weapon.

   The Soldier knew Roschenko had always feared him, had always been the first to suggest that the Soldier be put back in cryostasis and left there indefinitely.

   As if to prove this Roschenko arrived with four heavily-armed guards of his own.  They carried with them a portable monitor and receiver they set up at the end of the room.

   “We’ve been waiting for orders from Berlin,” the brunette female doctor was telling Roschenko as they walked in.  “We haven’t known what to do besides sedating it…”

   “Everything is under control, Dr. Andersson,” the Russian told her.  He spared barely a glance at the Soldier himself.  Instead he went to the large monitor and turned it on.

   A face appeared on the screen.

   “Вы приедете во внимание, солдат!!”  A voice said through the monitor.*

   “No, I won’t,” the Soldier replied in English, lifting his head up as much as he could against the restraints.  “I’m not taking any more orders from you, Lukin.”

   “You will.  Your programming demands it,” Lukin replied, also in English.

   “If you’re so sure of that, why don’t you come here and deal with me yourself?”  The Soldier told him.

   One of Roschenko’s guard punched him hard across the jaw.  The Solider barely flinched. 

   Instead he was focused on the monitor.  Even on screen he could see that Lukin did not look well.  His skin was abnormally flushed, and he seemed high-strung, almost twitching.  Nothing like the icy cool doctor who’d tortured and manipulated the Winter Soldier for decades.

   “I know who I am now,” the Soldier told him.  “I _remember_.  And I’m going to kill every last one of you.  Starting,” he said to the screen, “with you.”

   There was a long silence.

   “Wipe him.”  Lukin finally said.  “Wipe him, and then freeze him.  We’re starting over.”

* * *

 

   It was an odd fact of life, Dr. Bennett observed to herself as she walked into the lab, that when things went south, they always went south really, really fast.

   The arrival of Dr. Vassily Roschenko from Hydra headquarters was the last straw, as far as she was concerned.  The situation was spiraling out of control.  If she didn’t get a hold on it quickly all of her work was going to be undone.

   Outside one of the cells she punched in an access code.  The door slid open.

   She immediately skidded to a stop.

   “What the hell are you doing with my patient, Sholto?”

   Sure enough, the bug-eyed little doctor was bent over Caliban, a dripping needle in his sweaty hands.  Caliban lay in a fetal position, perfectly still.

   “Just some routine tests, Dr. Bennett,” the man replied with a smirk.

   “Routine, my ass!  The mutant experiments are under my management, not yours!  Who the hell do you think you are?”  Unable to contain her anger she grabbed the doctor by the lapels of his lab coat and slammed him against the stone wall.

   The other doctor didn’t even have the grace to look apologetic.

   Instead, his smirk grew into a wider smile. 

   “What the hell are you smiling about?”  Bennett demanded.

   Behind rimless glasses the man’s eyes flickered from grey to yellow.  With a gasp Bennett let go of him and stepped back.

   “See, this was always your problem, Mercy.  You have absolutely no sense of humor,” Raven Darkholme, aka Mystique, told her.  The pale pink skin and male features quickly gave way to her normal blue-skinned appearance.

   “Are you out of your goddammed mind?!”  Dr. Bennett tried very hard not to shriek, but her voice was still louder than it should have been.

   Mystique waggled a finger at her.  “Ah, ah, ah, doctor.  Let’s not attract any more attention than we need to.”

   “What the hell did you do to Caliban?  Do you even know how to use a hypodermic, or what the dosage was?  There could have been an air bubble in there—you could have killed him!” 

   Dr. Bennett quickly pressed a hand to her friend’s throat.  She was relieved that his pulse was slow but steady.

   “I just sedated him.  I couldn’t take the chance of you contacting Charles again.”  Raven smiled at Mercy’s surprised expression.  “Oh, yes, we know Caliban’s been helping you two keep in touch.  But from here on out Xavier is out of the picture.” 

   “Do you have any idea,” the doctor hissed through gritted teeth, “how long I have been working undercover on this?  And you think you can just waltz in here?”

   “I didn’t just ‘waltz’ in,” the older woman told her.  “It took some doing to get that stupid man alone so I could incapacitate him.  Besides, I was sent with a message.” 

   “Really.  Enlighten me.”

   Mystique smirked.  “Magneto is coming.”

   Dr. Bennett had read about “blood running cold” before, but she’d always assumed it to be a literary metaphor.

   It wasn’t.  Her whole body felt like ice.

   “Oh, no,  Mystique.  No, no, no.  You’ll ruin everything.   Oh, God, no.”

   “Relax.  The Brotherhood will handle things from here.”  Mystique’s yellow eyes seemed to glow from the inside.  “They’ll take this place apart stone by stone.  Hydra won’t know what hit them.”

   Bennett pressed her hands against her eyes for a second before continuing.  “If it were that simple, don’t you think I would have just called in the X-men?  There are patients here, Mystique.  Mutants.  Civilians.  A dozen of them.”

   “I know.  I’ve had time to have a look around.”  For the first time Raven frowned a bit.  “But not Quicksilver or Scarlet Witch.”

   “No.  The records say they were moved to another facility before I ever got here,” Bennett confessed.  “I don’t know why.  I’ve been feeding all of Hydra’s data on their mutant experiments back to the servers at the Institute--heavily encoded, of course.  But I don’t have all of it yet.  Look, I get why Magneto wants his team members back.  I do.  If I had more time…”

   “Well, you don’t,” Mystique said flatly.

   Mercy thought hard for a moment.  “How long?  How long until Magneto gets here?”

   “Minutes,” the blue-skinned woman told her.

   The doctor took a deep breath.  “Then, listen, Mystique.  I know you and I have never seen eye-to-eye on…well, anything, really.  But you need to understand what’s about to happen.  Hydra protocol is very clear.  If this facility is attacked the guards have orders to kill the patients first.”

   For the first time Mercy could see a flicker of uneasiness in Mystique’s eyes.  “Erik will stop them.”

   “Mystique, your faith in Magneto is admirable, but you’ve seen this facility.  We’re three stories underground.  Even someone as powerful as him is going to need time to tear through it, and that’s time we won’t have.  By the time he gets down here it will be too late.”  Mercy paused.

   “Please,” she continued after a moment.  “Help me save as many as we can.”

   Mystique tossed her head.  “I’ve seen you in a fight, Mercy, and I grant you—you’re pretty good.  Nowhere near as good as me, of course.  But you and me against how many armed Hydra guards and agents?”

   “Fifty-seven.  I’ve counted.  And that’s not including the ones that just arrived from Berlin with Roschenko, or the other doctors on staff here.”

   “I’ve had worse odds.”  Mystique eyed her sharply.  “But you have something else in mind, don’t you?”

   “I do.”  Mercy took a deep breath.  “Let’s give them someone else to fight.”     

* * *

 

   _Wipe him, and then freeze him._

   The Soldier roared with anger.

   Before the guards had even gotten his hands uncuffed he lashed out at them with his good arm, catching one across the windpipe and another across the sternum, crushing bone.

   But the guards Roshchenko had brought with him were ready with shock prods, jabbing him repeatedly until he fell to his knees.

   They managed to seize him under the arms, dragging him down the hall towards the chair.

   The Soldier knew what they were about to do.  The boy from Brooklyn would be gone.  So would the Man in Blue and the red-haired woman and the man with wings.  There would be nothingness again.  Just the cold.

   He would be alone again.  So terribly alone.  And so terribly empty...

   He fought every inch of the way, Roschenko and the three other doctors trailing only at a safe distance.

   They forced him into the chair.  One of the doctors typed into a nearby computer and the metal cuffs activated, holding his arms in place…

   The doors to the laboratory swung open.

   “I’m sorry, but there’s been a change in plans.”

   Everyone turned to look at the doctor standing there. 

   The Soldier could barely turn his head, but he recognized her as the one that had been ordered to sedate him that first night.  She was still wearing her grey lab coat.  A large uniformed guard was behind her, his standard-issue AKM assault rifle slung low around his body armor.

   “Who are you?”  Roschenko demanded.

   “I’m Dr. Angela Bennett.  I’m an expert on genetics and mutations.  Surely you know my work?”

   The woman’s voice was smooth, but her eyes were blinking a bit too rapidly as she spoke. 

   The Soldier recognized this as fear.  But fear of what?

   The Russian ignored her comment on her work. 

   “What is the meaning of this interruption?”  Roschenko looked at the other doctors, but they all just seemed confused.  “What change in plans?”

    Just then an alarm sounded overhead.  The noise echoed through the concrete halls.  It seemed to redouble inside the crowded lab.

   “That.”  Dr. Bennett pointed at the ceiling.  “And this.”  She reached into her coat and produced a pistol, leveling it at the others in the room.

   The guards lifted their own weapons, only to be quickly knocked aside by the guard who had accompanied the doctor into the room.  With a flexibility and speed belied by his size the man flung one guard into the other two, and then wrapped a leg around the throat of the fourth, choking him to the ground.

   The doctor hit one of the guards struggling to his feet with the butt of her gun.  The rogue guard knocked out the remaining two.

   In a matter of seconds there was only one guard left standing, and it wasn’t one of Roschenko’s.

   And then the guard began to change.  Face, uniform, body, all seemed to melt and reform themselves into the shape of a woman.  She was lean, and tall, and as far as the Soldier could tell completely naked with blue scaled skin and slicked back red hair.  Her eyes glowed yellow.

   She still held the rifle.

   Dr. Andersson stared at the newcomers for a long moment.  “More mutants.  We should have known.  You filthy creatures always stick together, don’t you?”  She turned back to Bennett.  “I told the Baron not to trust you.”

   “I’m sure you did,” Bennett said.  “And I’d suggest that right now everyone stay very calm and listen to me before more people get hurt.”

   “You’re bluffing,” another doctor said.  “She’s bluffing,” he told Roschenko.  “She’s a doctor, for Christ’s sake--she won’t hurt us.” 

   He edged back toward the computer that controlled the chair, until his fingers could reach the keyboard. 

   The Soldier arched his back in primal fear.

   The loud report of a gun being fired at close range made the Soldier’s ears ring for a second.  The doctor who’d spoke, who'd been standing next to the control panel, collapsed onto the floor.  He clutched at his bleeding leg.

   “You shot me, you crazy mutant bitch!”  He screamed, more in rage than in pain.

   “I told you to listen to me,” the doctor said quietly.  “And it’s just a flesh wound.  There’s nothing vital I could have hit in your calf muscle.”

   “Why, Mercy,” the blue woman said to her admiringly.  “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

   “Give me a minute and no other options and you’d be amazed at what I can do,” Bennett said.  She waved the smoking gun slightly, and this time all the other doctors moved backwards.

   The alarm overhead sounded again, louder and more urgently than before.

   The blue woman smirked.  “Magneto’s here,” she announced.

   The Solider could see everyone in the room, save the two strange women, turn pale.  He didn’t know what a ‘Magneto’ was, but it was clearly something even Hydra feared.

   Dr. Bennett stepped over the keyboard, and with a few keystrokes the restraints holding the Soldier to the chair unlocked.

   “Are you out of your mind?”  Roschenko demanded, his voice suddenly high and reedy.  “He’ll kill you, too!”

   “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”  She stooped down and picked up one of the AKM’s dropped by the unconscious guards.  She pulled out the magazine, checked it, and then slammed it back in, glancing over her shoulder at Roschenko.  “Are you?”

   The doctor paused in front of the chair and looked at the Soldier steadily for a moment—really looked at him, eye-to-eye. 

   For the first time he took in the color of her hair, not quite blonde, and not quite red, but somewhere in between; and that her eyes were blue. 

   The Soldier had heard Hydra operatives use the term “mutant” before, of course.  But he wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. 

   She looked human, even to his trained eyes.  Particularly next to the blue-skinned woman.

   Wordlessly, Bennett held out the rifle.

   The Soldier took it, the sound of the alarms and everything else in the room fading as the familiar muscle memory of holding a weapon kicked in.

   He felt calm again.  He always knew who he was when he had a gun in his hands.

   As he got to his feet the Russian shoved past the remaining doctors and ran through the doors.

   The others just cowered, backing even further into the room.  Even the injured man slid himself back across the floor, dragging his bad leg behind him.

   “Time?”  Mercy, or Dr. Angela Bennett, or whoever she was, asked the blue-skinned woman.

   “Two minutes, tops,” the other responded.

   “Ok.  Let’s go.”  Mercy turned her back on the Soldier.

   It would have been easy—too easy—for the Soldier to reach out and snap her neck, or to shoot her in the back.

   But for some reason he didn’t.  He just watched quietly as the two women departed.   

* * *

 

 

    “I thought you Brotherhood people were supposed to be fast?!”  Mercy demanded as she ducked down, another bullet whizzing by her head.

   “I told you: they’ll be down here soon!”  Mystique yelled back over the noise of screams and small arms fire.

   “You said that five minutes ago!”  Mercy hollered back.

   All pretense of being the calm, collected Dr. Bennett were gone now.  Mercy was quite happy to yell.

   As she’d hoped, unleashing the strange man from his restraints had been enough of a distraction for Hydra.  She’d seen some of the footage of what had happened in DC a few months ago.  She knew that if Hydra had gone to so much trouble to recapture the nameless operative he must have been extraordinarily dangerous.

   And so he had proved.  Most of Hydra’s forces had been deployed to deal with him, or outside to try and slow down Magneto. 

   She and Mystique had encountered surprisingly little resistance as they’d rushed back down to the medical labs and sealed off the main doors. 

   Most of the remaining medical personnel just ran from them.  That had left only the guards actually stationed inside the labs to deal with.  They were putting up a fight, but she and Mystique were both well-armed.

   And they had an ace in the hole: the other mutants.

  When Mercy had first been recruited by Hydra most of the “volunteers” had been kept under heavy sedation around the clock to make them easier to manage.  Over the last few months she had been weaning them off those high dosages.  She’d kept up the ruse of medicating them, however, even injecting them with saline when she was with the other Hydra doctors and had to look busy. 

   She’d never had the luxury of explaining to her patients who she was, that she was trying to help them, or even why she was doing what she was doing.  She’d known from the moment Strucker had hired her that she was playing a terribly dangerous game.  She’d always figured that the fewer people who knew the truth the less danger they would all be in.

   Outside she’d trusted only Professor Xavier.  Inside Hydra only Caliban had known, and then only because he’d recognized and remembered her from their shared past.  Fortunately his child-like mind and his blind faith in her had meant that it had never even occurred to him to expose her to Hydra authorities.

   She’d dropped the dosages slowly enough not to cause withdrawl but fast enough that, with the exception of Caliban, the mutants were now very alert, and very, very angry.

   Mystique had overridden the safety protocols in the computer that kept the cells locked down.  Now freed and awake, the other mutants were more than happy to join the fight. 

   Hydra had chosen some as test subjects for their sheer physical strength; others for different reasons.  But all knew how to turn those powers on their tormentors.

   “Nicely done, doctor,” Mystique said as one extremely large male mutant flung a guard across the room like a ragdoll.  “You certainly got them all worked up.”

   “Yeah, yay for me,” Mercy grumbled as she ducked another bullet.

   She had gathered up as much ammo along the way as she could, and the waves of attacks from Hydra seemed to be getting smaller and smaller. But she was still beginning to worry when the ground beneath them shook. 

   It was all she could do to stay on her feet as the shaking grew worse.  One of the inner walls of the lab collapsed into a pile of rubble, crushing two unfortunate Hydra under the debris.

   When the dust cleared Mercy looked up to see a tall, dark-haired man grinning at them.

   “Avalanche,”  Mystique said by way of greeting.  “You’re late.”

   “The walls are four feet thick,” the mutant told her, his English heavy with the inflections of his native Crete.  “Even I can move only so fast.”

   “Hey, Doc,” said another mutant who had also appeared from within the destroyed wall.  “I forgot to tell you, my homework’s going to be late.  Hope you don’t mind.”

   Mercy took in the smirking countenance of one of her former students.  She sighed.  “Hello, John.”

   “It’s Pyro now,’ he corrected her.  The young man illustrated his point by using the small flexible tubes of flammable gas that ran from the small tank on his back to igniters on the tips of his fingers to produce a wave of fire.  He quickly directed it at the small contingent of guards that were once again trying to charge them.  This time most of Hydra was smart enough to run in the other direction.

   “Well, what do you know, even Hydra can learn,” Mystique mocked aloud.

   “They know they’ll be killed if they fail to stop us,” Mercy corrected.  “Hydra protocols, remember?”

   “They should have thought of that before they started working for an organization that tortures mutants,” John Allerdyce replied.  “And _you_ _’_ _re_ welcome,” he told her snarkily.

   Mercy just shook her head. 

* * *

 

   The Soldier was in his element.

   He hadn’t wasted time killing the other doctors in the lab.  From the way they’d cowered away from him he knew they wouldn’t be getting in his way.

   He headed for the roof, determined to catch up with Roschenko.  He might not be able to get his hands around Lukin’s throat quite yet.  But he’d decided Lukin’s second-in-command would be a good consolation prize.

   Hydra tried to stop him, of course.  And they failed miserably.  Even bare-chested and without a functional cybernetic arm the Soldier had anger, strength, and decades of experience on his side.

   He cradled the AKM against his body like a lover, picking up additional weapons along the way from the men he killed or incapacitated.

   When he burst through the door into the open air, though, he was too late.  A helicopter was already taking off.

   He screamed with rage and frustration.  A bust of machine-gun fire splattered across the roof in his direction, but the Soldier stood his ground and returned fire.

   The copter fishtailed wildly for a moment, leading him to believe he’d hit at least one of its occupants.  But then it quickly veered away and high up over the tree line.  Even with all his speed and power the Soldier could not follow.

* * *

 

   “We have to go back for Caliban!”  Mercy told Mystique as they ran up the stairs.  “It’s your fault he’s unconscious!”

   “We’re out of time, and Caliban can take care of himself!”  The other woman yelled back.  “It’s what he’s best at.  Besides, I thought this was about saving the many, not the one!?” 

   Mystique was at the head of the other mutants as they charged out of the underground facility and into the courtyard.

   Ahead of them Mercy could see two planes: Magneto’s, no doubt.   _At least he came prepared_ , she thought grimly.

   There was fighting all around them.  But Mercy focused on the former Hydra captives. As much as she regretted they hadn’t been able to fight their way back into the cell block where they’d left Caliban, Mystique was right.  

   Mercy had risked so much to save as many as she could she couldn’t turn back now.  Fortunately the others seemed to have accepted her now as part of the rescue party.

   “Avalanche, you go first and draw fire,” Mystique ordered.  “The rest of you follow Avalanche to the plane.  Pyro, Mercy and I will protect you from the rear.  Now, run!”

   Everyone did as they were ordered.  It was probably a few hundred feet, but it felt like miles to Mercy as they were fired upon from several directions at once.  Avalanche and Pyro paused when they need to use their abilities in order to protect the civilians.  Mystique and Mercy provided covering fire as well, although Mercy knew that without time to stop and aim they were most likely not hitting anything at all.

   Up ahead Mercy could see the back of one of the planes open, exposing the cargo ramp.  Avalanche and the first of the patients reached it, climbing aboard as bullets rang out against the plane’s metal skin.

   They were nearly there when Mystique suddenly collapsed beside her.

   Purely out of instinct Mercy skidded to a halt and dropped down to the ground.

   “Mystique!”  The doctor crawled on her belly like something out of an old war movie until she reached the other female mutant.

   Bright red was blooming on the skin just below Mystique’s left collarbone.  She was gasping for air and looked up at Mercy with wide, wild eyes.

   In spite of the bullets still flying around them, Mercy yanked off her lab coat and balled it up, pressing down hard against the wound.  Mystique grunted with pain.

   “John!”  Mercy screamed.  “Mystique’s down!”

   He paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at the two women huddled on the ground.  But he didn’t stop.  When Mercy caught his eye he shrugged ever so slightly and followed the others into the plane.  She could hear the whine of the engines starting.

   “Goddammit, John!”  Mercy yelled helplessly after him.  

   She continued to put weight on the wound, her mind running through the likely scenarios of what was now happening inside of Mystique’s body.  Mystique was still breathing, which meant the shot had missed her heart.  But the way she was gasping made Mercy suspect a collapsed or a soon-to-collapse lung on the left side.  The large amount of fresh blood oozing up though her fingers meant internal hemorrhaging…

   A fresh round of bullets kicked up dirt around where they lay.  Several Hydra soldiers were approaching.

   “Go!”  Mystique ordered through the reddish froth that was beginning to form at the corners of her mouth.

   Mercy ignored her, rolling over onto her back to she could see better.  Still trying to hold onto the makeshift bandage, she used her free hand to return fire as best she could.  All but one of the approaching guards went down.

   The gun stopped firing.  She frantically felt in all her pockets, but there was no more ammo to be found.

   “Shit,” she said to no one in particular.

   The masked Hydra guard was almost on them now.  Mercy could hear the clear sound of another round being loaded into the chamber.

   She looked up into the muzzle of the gun.

   _Wow, this is going to hurt_ , she thought absently.

   A shot rang out, and Mercy instinctively closed her eyes and winced, waiting for pain.

   When it didn’t come she cautiously opened one eye.

   The Hydra guard was still standing there, but his arms were down and the gun hung limply in his hands.  She couldn’t be sure under the mask and goggles, but he seemed…surprised.

   She jerked backwards as a second shot rang out.  The muzzle flash came from a nearby rooftop.  This time she actually saw a bullet slam into the guard’s back with a bright red spray of blood.

   The guard was dead when he hit the ground.

   Mercy tried hard to breath and glanced frantically around her.  She slid backward, shifting Mystique over so she could get her hands under her arms.

   “C’mon, Mystique.  We have to move.  Right now.”

   Mystique’s healing abilities were helping her fight back against her injuries, and she was able to stumble to her feet.  Mercy still ended up supporting almost all of the other woman’s weight as they struggled towards the remaining plane.

   Mercy knew who had saved them.

   She just didn’t know why.

* * *

 

   The Solider didn’t know why he had bothered shooting the guard.

   It wasn’t as if he hadn’t shot enough people already.  And the outcome below had already seemed pretty clear to him.  The mutants were going to escape, and Hydra wasn’t going to be able to stop them.

   But when he’d seen the blue-skinned woman go down, and the other woman stop and crawl towards her to help, something had sparked inside his head.  Something familiar, a memory perhaps, something leftover from that Brooklyn boy that said sacrifice like that shouldn’t go unaided.

   He’d let the doctor defend herself until it had become clear she was in imminent danger.  And then he’d acted instinctively, firing off two rounds before he’d really been aware he was doing so.

   He was watching the doctor half-carry, half-drag the other woman towards the remaining plane when he became aware of another presence on the roof with him.

   He whirled around in time to see a man descend through the air, without wings but as smoothly as if he’d been flying.

   The Soldier raised his rifle, only to have it yanked from his hands by an unseen force.  He grabbed for another one, but this one, too, skittered away.

   The newcomer was strangely dressed, with a helmet that shielded most of his head but not his face.  The Soldier was surprised to see that this was an old man with very bright eyes.  Intelligent eyes, the Soldier reckoned.  And calculating ones.

   “Well, well,” the old man said to him.  “You are probably the last person I would expect to find here.”

   Not sure if this was another Hydra trick or not, the Soldier just bared his teeth and pulled out one of his knives.

   His hand was yanked violently backwards by the unseen force again until he dropped the weapon.

   “You’re well-armed, I’ll give you that,” the man said to the Soldier as he approached him.  “Too well-armed for my taste.” 

   With a flick of the man’s hand the Soldier felt his cybernetic arm being pulled, wrenched away from his body until the Soldier was lifted off his feet.  The Soldier grunted in pain as the useless arm pulled hard where it connected to his spine and ribs. 

   The man himself was generating the force that was tearing at him, the Soldier decided.  It was absurd, but it was the only logical explanation.

   “I’m not going to harm you,” the man said as he looked up at where the Soldier was dangling.  “Unless of course you force me to do so.  But you’re not going to do that, are you?”

   It sounded like a rhetorical question, but the Soldier answered it anyway.

   “No.”

   “Good.”  The old man lowered his hand, and the Soldier felt his booted feet touch ground again. 

   “You’re Magneto,” the Solider said.

   “I am.  And you are the man who nearly killed Captain America.  An action I applaud you for, I assure you.”

   Captain America?  That name was oddly familiar to the Soldier.  Oh, yes.  The museum display.  The Man in Blue.

   “What do you want?”  The Soldier asked.

   “That is the wrong question to ask me, young man.  The question you should be asking is, how can I help _you_?”

   “You’re not going to help me.  No one helps me.”

   “Oh, on the contrary, I think I can.  Watch.”  Almost absently Magneto waved a hand, once, twice, and the bullets being fired below simply dropped out of the air.  The remaining Hydra soldiers looked at one another in astonishment and terror as their guns were yanked from their hands.

   “Impressive,” the Soldier admitted.  And he meant it: he had been trained to recognize and to respect power when he saw it.  “But what’s that got to do with me?”

   Magneto stepped closer to him. 

   “I believe you and I want the same thing.  An end to Hydra.  And Aleksander Lukin’s head on a platter.”  The old man smiled knowingly.  “Am I correct?”

   The Soldier paused for a moment.  “I want Lukin,” he admitted. 

   “Then come with me.  Let’s discuss how we shall accomplish this.”

   Shaking his hair out of his eyes, the Soldier contemplated this. 

   “I get to kill Lukin.  Not you.”  He finally said.

   “As you wish, my boy.” 

   Magneto smiled, and it was a terrible smile. 

   “As you wish,” he repeated. 

  

* * *

 

 

*“You will come to attention, soldier!”  (Sorry if this is an inaccurate translation; I don’t actually speak Russian.)

 

  

 

  

  


	3. The Devil You Don’t Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So if I’m not Sargent James Barnes anymore, who am I?” He asked.  
> “Another very good question. Who would you like to be?”  
> This was an easy question to answer.  
> “The man who kills Aleksander Lukin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the great feedback! It's been motivating me to keep writing.  
> Bonniethedolphin: awesome comments: have you been reading ahead:)? I'm glad you like Mercy: I invented her because I needed a mutant with medical training who wasn't Beast or Jean Grey. But her back story has been evolving along with the rest of the story and we'll find out more about her eventually, too.

Ch. 3: The Devil You Don’t Know

  

    The Soldier followed Magneto up the cargo ramp and into the remaining plane.  The jet engines were already running with a high-pitched whine.

   There was no one from Hydra left to try to stop them.  Those that weren’t dead had fled, willing to take their chances in the wildness rather than face the powerful mutant.

   “Toad, get us out of here, please,” Magneto announced in his elegant voice.

   Up ahead the pilot, an odd-looking man with a greenish cast to his skin, glanced over his shoulder and gave them the thumbs up.  They lifted off.

   Two other mutants, both males, were also in the cargo hold.  One was slender; the other, grotesquely large.  Both were focused on aiding Mercy, who was once again working on the blue-skinned woman.  A blanket had been spread on the floor, and the doctor was applying pressure to the wound. 

   But the other woman was still having trouble breathing.  The cabin was filled with the coppery scent of her fresh blood.  Her yellow eyes were glassy and unseeing, something the Soldier had seen frequently happen as death approached.

   The Soldier sat down in one of the available jump seats, as far away from the strangers as possible in the confined space.

   “Will Mystique survive?”  Magneto asked as he seated himself.  He spoke in the same tone a man might use to ask if his dinner was ready.

   With the help of one of the other men Mercy eased the blue-skinned woman—Mystique, apparently—into a sitting position so she could get a good look at her back.

   “Like I thought.  There’s an exit wound,” she announced grimly.

   “That’s good, isn’t it?”  The slender mutant—young, American accent--asked.  “’Cause the bullet’s out?”

   “In a gunshot wound the bullet serves as a plug to prevent further blood loss.  Without it the patient often bleeds to death.”

   When everyone on the plane turned to stare at him the Soldier was surprised to realize he’d been the one to utter those words. 

   He wasn’t sure how he came by that knowledge.   A vague memory of digging bullets out of his right arm in a seedy motel somewhere, the bed and carpet soaked in his own blood, flitted through his mind.

   Mercy gazed at him silently for a moment.  He remembered abruptly that he’d never said a word in her presence before.

   “He’s right,” she finally said.   “Mystique is losing blood faster than her healing factor can compensate, and I’m pretty sure her left lung’s been punctured.”

   “I see,” Magneto observed.

   The doctor tried to push hair off her forehead with the heel of her hand.  She managed only to leave a streak of blood there.  “I don’t suppose you’re willing to drop us both off at an emergency room somewhere?”

   “No, I am not.”

   “It’s less than half an hour to our destination,” Toad called over his shoulder.

   “She doesn’t have half an hour, Mortimer,” Mercy yelled back.

   She eyed Magneto again.  “You’re going to let her die like this?  After everything she’s done for you?”

   “Sacrifices always have to be made, Mercy.”  Magneto spoke as if to a child.  “Mystique understands this.  I would have thought that as a physician you would, too.”

   “Understanding and acceptance are two very different things,” the young woman retorted.  She turned back to the slimmer of the two male mutants.  “Mimic, see if you can find some alcohol wipes, or anything I can clean my hands with.”

   He dug around in the med pack in his lap and handed over what he found.  “You can fix her, though, right?”  He asked as she carefully wiped her hands.  “I mean, this is what you do, right?”

   “I’ll try.”  Mercy looked up at Magneto again.  Her blue eyes were hard and cold.  “This might not work, you know.  I might not be able to save her.”

   “But it’s certainly worth the attempt, doctor,” he replied.  “Why else do you think I’ve allowed you to accompany us?”

   The Soldier watched the scene unfold in front of him with indifference. 

   He told himself that he didn’t understand why so much fuss was being made over the dying woman.  People died all the time.  When an operative was badly wounded it made more sense to put them out of their misery as quickly as possible then to mourn over their imminent demise and risk compromising the mission. 

   He knew this was what the Red Room had taught him. 

   But he also knew he didn’t really believe that anymore.  If he had he wouldn’t have bothered diving into the Potomac to save Captain America.  Nor would the Soldier have risked exposure by dragging the Captain onto the riverbank where he would be quickly found.

   For some reason he’d valued the Man in Blue’s life over those of other people he’d wounded and left to die.

   “Blob, Mimic, help me hold her still,” the doctor was saying.  They obediently took hold of the injured women’s shoulders and her feet.

   He waited and watched, expecting to see Mercy attempt some sort of impromptu surgery on Mystique.

   Instead the doctor’s right hand began to glow with a soft blue light, as if lit up from the inside out.  She bent low over her patient.

   “I’m sorry, Mystique,” she said softly.  “But I’m afraid this is going to hurt.” 

   With a quick downward movement she pressed her glowing hand against the wound.

   The blue-skinned woman opened her mouth and howled in agony.  She began to thrash, but her friends held her still.

   The light seemed to be passing through one woman’s body and into the other’s.

   The doctor’s own eyes grew unfocused, and a trickle of blood appeared from her nose.  But still she did not move.

   After several more long minutes she at last pulled back her hand and slumped backward against the bulkhead.  Mercy’s skin had taken on a greyish cast and her lips were blue.  She swiped half-heartedly at the blood on her upper lip.

   Mystique lay very still.  But even the Solider could hear that her breathing had eased.

   “Remarkable,” Magneto told the doctor proudly.  “Truly remarkable.”

   The Soldier could think of several words for what he had just seen.  ‘Remarkable’ didn’t even scratch the surface.

   ‘Bizarre’ came a bit closer.  As did ‘useful.’  Hydra had had this woman in their employ but evidently had not known what she was truly capable of.  If they had she would have been behind glass in those cells with all the others.

   But that was the thing about Hydra, he reflected. 

   It had never been as smart an organization as it liked to think it was.

* * *

 

   As the plane landed at their destination and the cargo ramp once again lowered the Soldier did what he always did.  He prepared to scan the terrain for possible escape routes.  He knew he could disable everyone on the plane, except perhaps Magneto, with ease.  That would buy him enough time, if he needed it, to deal with whatever he might encounter on the ground.

   But no Hydra soldiers rushed up the ramp to subdue him.  The mutants did not seem to be in any particular hurry to contain him, either.  In fact they seem to have largely forgotten he was there.

   Mystique was transferred to a stretcher, and the mutants called Blob and Toad carried her out.  She was awake and breathing normally.

   The Soldier stood, as did Magneto. 

   “Uh, boss?”  Mimic was bent over Mercy.  The doctor was still slumped in a seated position, and Mimic was trying and failing to rouse her.  He looked up at Magneto with wide eyes.  “I don’t think she’s breathing.”

   “She stopped breathing eleven minutes ago,” the Soldier corrected.

   “What?!”  Mimic demanded.  He titled back the doctor’s head and felt her throat.

    “Jesus, she’s got no pulse, either!”  He turned back to the Soldier.  “And it didn’t occur to you to maybe say something!?”

   “I didn’t see why she would be any concern of mine,” the Soldier explained.

   “Shit!  And people call us mutants cold-blooded!”

    “Calm down,” Magneto soothed.  “I think Mercy’s unique mutation may explain her current condition.”

   “Her ‘current condition’!?!  She’s dead, Magneto!”

   Another large mutant entered the cargo bay, this one with shaggy hair and several days’ growth of beard.  He bared his teeth, sharp and animal-like, at the Soldier.

   “I believe we shall find that with Mercy ‘dead’ is a highly subjective term,” Magneto continued.  He looked up.  “Ah, Sabretooth, there you are.  Do be so kind as to pick up the doctor’s body and deposit her in my study.  And be careful with her.”    

   The mutant did as he was bid, slinging the woman over one shoulder as if she weighed no more than a feather.

   Magneto extended one hand towards the Soldier, but was careful not to touch him.

   “Come with me,” he said.  “We’ll get you something to drink and have that talk.”

   The Soldier silently followed Magneto out onto the tarmac.  He quickly took in his surroundings. 

   The land was heavily forested on either side, and high mountains loomed above them.  In front of them was a castle of some sort, clearly well-kept.  From the many windows one would have a commanding view of the lands around them.

   “Where are we?”  The Soldier asked.

   “Bulgaria.  The Balkan Mountains.  The castle belongs to a noble family who spend most of the year in Paris.  They have been kind enough to loan it to us as a base for our operations.”

   The Soldier believed very little of this story.  But he still followed Magneto through a series of gates and courtyards and into the main structure.

   They passed other mutants as they walked, but while most nodded respectfully at Magneto they ignored the Soldier.

   The carpets beneath their feet grew thick and luxurious, swallowing their footsteps.  There were paintings on the walls and fresh flowers on most flat surfaces.  Clearly, Magneto was someone who enjoyed the finer things in life.

   They passed through a set of double doors and into a large room painted in pale shades of grey.  Mercy’s body lay on one of the velvet sofas, one arm dangling lifelessly over the edge.  The man Magneto had called Sabretooth was still looming over her.

   “That’s enough, Victor, thank you,” Magneto told him.  “Please tell the housekeeper I need tea—and coffee, I think, for our friend here.”

   The mutant nodded and left the room.

   Magneto went to a large, inlaid desk and sat down behind it.  With a wave he produced a carafe of water and several glasses on a metal tray from the table behind him.

   He indicated the chair opposite him as he poured a glass.  “Do sit down.”  He held out the glass for the Soldier.

   When the Soldier refused to take it he smiled slightly. 

   “Oh, of course.”  He put the glass to his own lips and took a sip.  Then he set it down and pushed it towards the Soldier. 

   The Soldier took it and greedily swallowed the liquid.  It stung his cracked lips but immediately soothed his mouth and throat.

   Magneto filled it for him several more times.  When the Soldier had finally slaked his thirst he sat down in the chair Magneto had indicated.

   The mutant folded his fingers together and contemplated the Soldier for a moment.

   “Feel better?”  He asked.

   The Soldier nodded.

   “Good.  You’ll be quite comfortable here.  We’ll provide you with a change of clothes and have your cybernetic limb repaired as soon as possible.”

   “I need weapons, not repairs,” the Soldier corrected. 

   He knew he must be a mess.  He’d not bathed in many days.  He was shirtless and no doubt flecked with wounds, blood, and gunpowder from the fight to escape the Hydra facility. 

   His appearance had never mattered to him, certainly not like it had mattered to that fastidious boy from Brooklyn.  In museum photos that boy’s hair had been carefully coiffed and his civilian clothes spotless.

   “Nevertheless, you shall have both.”  Magneto studied him carefully. 

   “You see, what I am proposing is that my organization, my Brotherhood of Mutants, keeps you supplied with arms and whatever else you need so you may continue your work against Hydra and Dr. Lukin.”

   “What’s Lukin to you?”

   “That is my business.  You may use this facility as your base of operations.  We can provide transportation and extraction as needed,” he continued.  “You may come and go from here as you please.”

   The Soldier shook his head.  “There’s a catch.  You want something.  People always want something from me.”

   “Wise boy,” the old man chuckled.  “Yes, the only thing I ask is that any additional mutants you recover from Hydra be returned to my keeping.”

   “It would be a search and destroy mission, not a rescue mission,” the Soldier told him.

   Magneto shook his head.  “I’m afraid on this point I am immoveable.  If you uncover any additional patients, as Hydra calls them, you will bring them here to me, alive and unharmed.”

   “And if I refuse?”

  Magneto held up his hands.  “Then you and I will go our separate ways now, and I shall wish you luck.”

   The Soldier thought long and hard about this.  He needed to complete his mission.  Without logistical support that would prove extremely difficult.  There were dozens of other Hydra cells still active, still hunting him.

   He didn’t believe the mutant was telling him the truth—at least not the full truth—about anything.  But the Solider had never let that interfere with his missions before. Why should he do so now, when he was so close to getting the deaths he needed to quiet the rage, and to fill the emptiness in his head and heart?

   The door opened again.  The Soldier instinctively jumped to his feet.

   A middle-aged woman entered bearing a heavy tray.  She took one look at the Soldier and skidded to a stop.  Her hands were shaking so much the spoons on the tray rattled.

   “You may put that down on the coffee table, Mrs. Fodorov,” Magneto told her. 

   The woman did as she bade, catching sight of Mercy’s body only once she’d straightened back up.  If possible her countenance grew even paler.

   “That will be all, Mrs. Fodorov,” Magneto said.  “I shall ring if we need anything.”

   The woman hurried out of the room as if the hounds of hell were at her heels.

   Magneto chuckled.  “Poor woman.  I’m afraid she and the other servants have found providing for the Brotherhood a bit…challenging.  But, as they say, good help is so hard to find, even under the best of circumstances.”

   Magneto rose and walked to the tray.  He filled a cup from a china teapot for himself, and then eyed the Soldier.

   “Coffee for you, I think, yes?  Americans usually prefer coffee, and you are an American, in spite of what the KBG and Hydra would have you believe.”

   The Soldier shrugged, letting Magneto fill another cup from a different pot.  He could smell the dark, acidic scent of coffee, and it made his stomach growl.

   “How do you take it?”  Magneto asked.

   “I don’t know.”

   “Milk and sugar then,” Magneto said with a nod.  “No doubt you haven’t eaten in a while, and the sugar will do you good.”

   The Soldier had no idea why the mutant leader was being so solicitous.  But he accepted the coffee and took a deep gulp.  The substance was so hot it nearly burned his tongue.  After he swallowed he nodded.

   “It’s good.”

   “There, you see?”  Magneto smiled.

   “How do you know I’m American?”

   “An excellent question.”  Magneto took his own cup of tea and returned to his seat behind the desk.

   “Have you seen the exhibit?”  The Soldier asked.

   Magneto blinked.  “Exhibit?  Oh, you must mean that ridiculous piece of propaganda about you and your friends they’ve installed at the Smithsonian.  Such fools.”  He chuckled slightly.  “No, I have not visited it, although I have read about it.”  He gazed at the Soldier over the rim of his cup.  “I take it you have been there?”

   “Yes.  I stumbled on it by accident in DC, and went in.”

   “And did any of it seem…familiar?”

   “No,” the Soldier admitted.  “That man had my face, but I don’t know him.  I’m not James Buchanan Barnes, or even Bucky Barnes.  Not anymore.”

   “Of course you aren’t.  No one could expect you to be.”  Magneto leaned back slightly in his chair.  “Take it from someone who knows.  Something like what you’ve been through…changes a person.  One is never the same again.  Never.” 

   Magneto sat in silence for a long moment, his fingers steepled before him and his eyes very far away.

   The Soldier took another sip of his coffee.  He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been until the warm liquid began to fill his stomach.

   “But to answer your original question,” Magneto finally continued, “you still have the air of an American about you.  No matter to what lengths the Soviets went to beat it out of you.  An indefinable sense of…bravado, shall we say, I’ve come to associate only with Americans.”

   It was the Soldier’s turn to be quiet.

   “So if I’m not Sargent James Barnes anymore, who am I?”  He asked.

   “Another very good question.  Who would you like to be?”

   This was an easy question to answer.   

  “The man who kills Aleksander Lukin.”

   Magneto waved away that comment.  “Yes, but besides that?”

   The Soldier cocked his head to one side.  “What do you mean?”

   “Vengeance is all very well.  Vengeance can keep a man going for many, many years, in fact.  He may hold the memories of how he has been wronged close, counting them over and over again like precious pearls.  But at some point it is no longer enough.  He must find a meaning in what has happened to him that is deeper and more soul-satisfying than mere revenge.  Do you understand?”

   “No.”  To the Soldier, vengeance was everything.  It was the only reason why he still breathed, why he still moved.  What the mutant was trying to tell him made no sense at all.

   Magneto smiled.  “That’s all right.  You will understand, some day.”  He glanced past the Soldier.  “Oh, it would appear the doctor is about to rejoin the land of the living.”

   As Magneto stood the Soldier looked over his own shoulder.

   Mercy’s fingers were curling and uncurling slightly, as if her nervous system was trying to remember how to produce motion. 

   A moment later her eyes opened wide.  She half-sat up and breathed in with such a deep gasp she almost choked.  Color rushed back into her cheeks and her lips as her head dropped back against the pillow.

   “Welcome back,” Magneto told her.  “Would you like a cup of tea?”

   “No.”  Mercy coughed slightly.  “No,” she repeated, a bit more clearly this time.  “How long…?”  The doctor trailed off.

   “By our friend’s reckoning,” and here Magneto gestured at the Soldier, “half an hour, perhaps a bit more.”

   The mutant leader poured himself a second cup and stood sipping it thoughtfully.

   “That’s not the longest you’ve been out, I suspect,” he mused aloud.

   “Not even close.”  Mercy gingerly sat up and swung her feet onto the floor. She rubbed her head with her fingertips.  “Mystique?”

   “Much better.  I expect she shall make a full recovery, thanks to your ministrations.”

   “And no thanks to yours.”  The woman glanced at the Soldier again.  “Why is he still here?”

   “Oh, he and I had business to discuss.  But then you two have not been formally introduced, have you?  Dr. Angela Bennett, codename Mercy, I’d like you to meet the man who was Sargent James Buchanan Barnes of the United States Army.  102nd, was it?”

   “107th,” the Soldier replied without thinking.  He wasn't certain whether that knowledge came from the exhibit or from his own memory.

   “I stand corrected.  The 107th.  I’m sure you’ve heard of him—no doubt he was in your history books as a child.”

   Mercy’s mouth opened, and then quickly snapped shut again.

   “Yes, my dear?”  Magneto asked.  “You were going to say something?”

   “I was going to say that’s not possible,” Mercy said slowly.  She gazed at Magneto.  “But you and I both know that it is.”

   “It is, indeed.”

   She rubbed her eyes.  “He might be a clone.”

   “Perhaps.”

   “Or someone surgically altered to look like Barnes.”

   “Possible, but unlikely.”

   “God, my head hurts,” Mercy confessed.

   “Yes, I daresay it does.”  Magneto set down his cup.  “Now, my friend, you were about to tell me whether or not you accept my offer.”

   “Your offer of what?”  Mercy, alarmed, looked from Magneto to the Soldier and back again.

   Both men ignored her.

   “I accept,” the Soldier said grudgingly.  “For now.”

   “Accept what?”  Mercy demanded.

   “A wise choice.”  The old man smiled.  “Now, since we shall be working together, we will need to give you a name.  I assume you do not wish to go by Barnes any longer?”

   “No.”

   “What did your handlers call you?”

   The Soldier reflected on this, searching his fragmented memory.  “The asset.  The subject.  Thing.  It.”

   Mercy swore softly.

   “Then I think perhaps you should choose your own name.  A mutant name, if you like,” Magneto told him.

   “What’s a mutant name?”

   “Well, as Mercy here would also be able to explain to you, a mutant often chooses a name different than the one he or she was born with.  One that symbolizes who they are with their powers, and that distinguishes them from mere Homo sapiens.”

    This made some sense to the Soldier.  “And you choose this name for yourself?”

   “Occasionally it might be given to you by another mutant.  But more often one chooses it for one’s self.  I, for example, gave myself the name ‘Magneto.’” 

   Magneto was now watching him closely.  “Is there another name, a new name, you might perhaps take for yourself?  One that explains who you are now, and who you shall become in the future?”

   The Soldier thought about this for a moment.  He thought about what he’d been doing, and what had happened in the last few weeks.  He thought about that day on the Helicarrier.  And, yes, he even thought a bit about James Buchanan Barnes as he’d been immortalized there in the museum exhibit.  Frozen in time.

   “Soldier,” he finally said.  “Call me ‘Soldier.’”

    “A good name.”  Magneto nodded in satisfaction.  “Very well, then,” he continued.  “Welcome to the Brotherhood of Mutants, Soldier.”

   “That just leaves us with one difficulty,” the old man admitted.  He turned back to face Mercy.  “What are we going to do with you?”

   “Drop me off in upstate New York?”  Mercy asked hopefully.  When Magneto didn’t respond she sighed.  “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

   “Are you going to kill her?”  Soldier asked.

   Magneto raised an eyebrow.  “Is that what you’d do?”

   “Wait a second—what are you asking _him_ for?”  Mercy, alarmed, demanded.

   “If she was a risk to my mission, yes,” Soldier explained.

   “Understood.  However, you’ve seen what she can do.  I’m afraid Mercy is too valuable to mutant kind to dispose of so easily.  On the other hand, we cannot have her running back to Charles Xavier at the first opportunity.”

   “You’re all heart, Magneto,” the woman scoffed. 

   She eyed the Soldier.  “You can’t trust him, you know.” 

   “I don’t trust anyone,” he corrected her.

   She shook her head and turned back to the mutant leader. 

   “Look, you aren’t the one who’s spent the better part of the last year risking your life to get Hydra’s data on their experiments.  And, by the way, your little stunt today not only resulted in Caliban getting left behind but didn’t give me time to upload the last of the coded information from Hydra’s servers.  I should be able to fill in the blanks in their research eventually, but it’s going to take months.  Those may be months ‘mutant kind’ doesn’t have.”

   “Yes, you’re right of course, doctor,” Magneto said with a nod.  “How frustrating for you.  Although that does remind me…”  He reached into his left sleeve and produced a small flash drive.

   Mercy’s eyes grew wide.  “Are you telling me…”

   “The last pieces of Hydra’s data, yes.”

   “How did you get that?   You….”  Her expression grew dark.  “Mystique.”

   Magneto laughed.  “Of course Mystique.  Who else?”

   “That…”  Mercy took a deep breath.  “I should have let her die.”

   “Oh come now, Mercy.  We both know you would not have been able to do that.”  He held up the item.  “I am willing to provide you with the contents of this drive…eventually.”

   “How eventually?”  She demanded.

   “You behave yourself while you are here, and do not interfere with our plans.  Then not only will I make sure you return safely to New York but I will give you the data you need to decipher every single one of Hydra’s mutant experiments.”

   The woman sat silently for a moment. 

   “There’s only one problem with your offer, Magneto.  It presupposes I can trust that you’ll keep your word.  And we both know you don’t always do that."

   “True.”  The old man shrugged slightly.  “However, you are a follower of Xavier and thus an enemy of the Brotherhood.  I needn’t remind you that you are in a _very_ precarious position at the moment.” 

   He smiled at his fellow mutant. 

   “I suggest you accept my offer.  For it is the only one you will get.”

* * *

* * *

 

The next chapter we're going to check in with Cap and see what he's been up to while all this has been happening, so stay tuned!  And, as always, please read and review!   

      


	4. Interlude at Stark Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stepping eagerly up to the monitor, Steve tried to read over Tony’s shoulder. “So who’s it from?”
> 
> Tony regarded Steve seriously for a moment. 
> 
> “Charles Xavier,” he finally said. “Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

Ch. 4: Interlude at Stark Tower

_New York City, 48 hours earlier…_

 

   Captain America never had nightmares. 

   That’s what everyone assumed, anyway.

   Steve Rogers, however, did. 

   He’d had nightmares during the war.  Given the nature of their work, all the Howling Commandos had.  None of them had ever been willing to admit it the next morning, though.

   And he’d had nightmares after waking up from the ice.  Most of those had revolved around desperately trying to find his way back to his own time, only to be thwarted at every turn.  He’d wake up in a cold sweat every time.

   But even those were nothing compared to the nightmares he was having lately.

   Even punching the heavy bag in the gym at Stark Tower, as he was doing now, wasn’t enough to push them out of his mind. 

   They always started the same way: with Bucky falling from the train.  That part wasn’t new.  Only now that terrible image was succeeded by others, of Bucky suffering, screaming for help as he was tortured and mutilated. 

   Steve could see his friend in the dream, but he couldn’t reach him. 

   Steve was always held back by something.  Several times he’d looked down to discover that he’d lost his powers and was back in his original ninety-eight pound weakling of a body.  Other times it was one of his colleagues physically holding him back: Natasha, Sam, even Fury himself once.

   In the rational part of his mind Steve knew his imagination was just filling in the blanks in the files Nat had gotten from her contacts in Kiev.  Even when translated into English most of the language that described the creation of the Winter Soldier had been dry, clinical. 

   But in Steve’s dreams, Bucky’s suffering was…vivid.  Practically in Technicolor.

   “Steve?”

   Cap aimed one more right hook at the bag and then paused to look up at the woman who had just entered the room.

   “Hi, Pepper.  What’s up?”

   “Tony wants to know if you’ll come down to his lab.”

   Steve wiped the sweat off his face. 

   As she always did, Pepper Potts looked cool and composed in her neatly tailored clothing.  He looked down at his t-shirt and sweats and grimaced.  “Maybe I should shower…?”

   “It seemed pretty urgent,” Pepper told him.  “He actually asked me to come and get you.  He said ‘please’ and everything.”

   Rogers had to laugh at that.  It had taken him a long time to get used to Tony Stark, and even longer to consider him a friend.

   But Stark’s relationship with Pepper remained a total mystery.  Steve didn’t know Pepper well.  But he could imagine what a pain in the ass Tony was to work for, let alone live with.  He couldn’t think why any woman in her right mind would put up with him—unless she was after his money, which Pepper clearly wasn’t.  Pepper was honest, forthright, dependable, smart, and beautiful, the kind of girl any guy would be happy to take home to his mother.

   Steve knew that Natasha and Barton had a private bet going to see how long Tony and Pepper’s relationship would stick.

   For his own part he hoped it did.  Pepper was one of the only things that seemed to keep Tony grounded.  If one could consider a billionaire genius playboy with a super-powered metal suit as ever really “grounded” at all.

     After a quick change into a dry shirt Steve went to the private elevators that would take him to Tony’s lab.

   After the fall of SHIELD Steve hadn’t felt right about returning to his old apartment in DC.  Fury’s blood stained the floors, and there were still bullet holes in the walls.  Besides, for weeks he and Sam had been combing the eastern seaboard for any signs of Bucky.

   But there had been none.  The Soldier had disappeared again, like the ghost Natasha had once called him.

   Stark, of all people, had been the one to talk some sense into him.  Tony had insisted that Steve and Sam come to Stark Towers.  There, thanks to Tony’s hacking prowess, they had access to every bit of intelligence what was left of SHIELD might have.  They also had the benefit of Clint’s and Tony’s and Natasha’s own private networks of spies and informants as well. 

   Plus, Tony promised he would rebuild Sam’s wing pack so he could fly again.

   It was really only this last offer that had convinced Steve.  Sam had volunteered to help him find Bucky.  Sam was smart and well-trained and good in a fight.  But without his wings he was vulnerable, far more vulnerable than Steve was comfortable with.

   Steve had given Tony two weeks.  Then, if nothing broke, he was heading out again on his own.

   With a barely perceptible bump the elevator arrived at its destination.  It opened directly into Tony’s lab.  The first twenty stories or so of Stark Tower contained Stark Industries and all of its vast technological power.  There were more than a dozen laboratories on those floors alone.

   But this one was Tony’s, and Tony’s alone, designed to replace the one destroyed in the attack on his Malibu mansion.  Nobody but Tony, Pepper, Rhodey Rhodes, Jarvis, and the occasional Avenger was allowed inside.

   Well, and Sam, now, too.

   Sam looked up when he entered and shot him a wide grin.

   “Hey, man.  You leave any of that bag left for someone else to punch?”

   “A bit.”  Steve smiled.  “How’re the wings?”

   “All done.  And awesome.  Better than before, even.”

   “Don’t say that out loud, Sam.  Tony’s head is big enough already.”

   “Too late—I already heard him,” Tony Stark said as he whisked through several virtual computer screens in midair.  “The wing pack is, indeed, awesome.  I thought you said it would be a challenge to rebuild, Cap.”

   “I guess I stand corrected,” Steve offered.  “So, what, did you two drag me down here for a test flight?”

   “Afraid not.”  Stark finally paused on one screen in particular.  “A coded message just came in for you over my private server.  It’s decrypting now.”

   Steve was instantly alert.  “Nat?  Clint?”

   “Nope.  They’re still in Nebraska.  Or was it North Dakota?  Well, whatever flyover state they’re laying low in until they know just how much of the KGB is after the Back Widow now she’s out of the closet, so to speak.”

   Steve nodded.  Tony always spoke quickly, cramming several sentences into space intended for just one.  Steve had decided it was just a reflection of how quickly Stark’s mind worked.

   Sam looked a little uncomfortable.  “Hey, if this is high security stuff maybe I should just step out for a few minutes, give you guys some privacy.  I don’t mind.”

   But Steve quickly shook his head.  “No, Sam.  You’re in this as deep as I am now.”

   “Yeah, sit tight, ‘Falcon,’” Stark added.  “You sure about that name, by the way?  I could have my PR department work you up something else…”

   “Hey, the press made it up, not me,” Sam smiled ruefully.  “But I actually kinda like it.”

   Stark shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”  He squinted at the virtual screen before him.  “Huh.  It’s from Bruce.”

   “Dr. Banner?”  Rogers asked.  “I thought he was still in India?  In an ashram or something?”

   “He is.  He says he’s just relaying another message.  For a friend.”

   Steve’s eyebrows shot up.  “A friend?”

   “Yeah.  And the message is intended for you, Cap.”  Stark rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

   “For me?  Who the hell would need to go through Bruce to reach me?”

   “Someone who knows Hydra is on the loose?”  Sam suggested reasonably.

   “And who knows the only safe way to relay information is through people you can trust,” Stark added.

   Stepping eagerly up to the monitor, Steve tried to read over Tony’s shoulder.  “So who’s it from?”

   Tony regarded Steve seriously for a moment. 

   “Charles Xavier,” he finally said.  “Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

* * *

 

   “I’m still not sure I’m cool with this,” Tony complained two days later as they waited again by the private elevator.

   “You were the one who said we could use the Tower for our meeting,” the Captain reminded him.

   “Well, yeah, only because I didn’t want you and arguably the most powerful mutant on the planet meeting at the local Starbucks,” Stark retorted.

   “And they’re using the secret entrance you designed,” Sam reminded the genius inventor.  “So no one will know they’ve been here.”

   “Maybe.  Maybe not.  Even I have, occasionally, been vulnerable to spies,” Tony admitted.

   “Even you, Stark?  With all your tech?”  Sam teased.

   “Nobody’s perfect,” Tony huffed.  “It’s usually industrial espionage, stuff that’s pretty easy to root out.  Maria Hill’s been going through the records of everyone I’ve hired and fired in the last ten years looking for Hydra, and so far we’re clean.  But you never know.”

     “I’m still fine with meeting the Professor somewhere else.  On neutral ground, so to speak.” Steve offered. 

   And he meant it.  He’d only read about Charles Xavier and his mutants, the ones known as the X-Men.  But it hadn’t seemed quite right for him to visit Xavier’s school, as the Professor had originally suggested when Steve had responded to his request for a meeting. 

   Steve still had no idea what the Professor wanted from him.  Xavier hadn’t been willing to discuss any details until they were in the same room.

   Mutants had been another part of the modern world Steve had had to get used to.  In his day he and the Red Skull had been…unique. 

   Now there seemed to be more and more individuals who could do extraordinary things, both for good and for evil.  And it wasn’t taking super serum or even experiments like the one that had created the Hulk anymore, either.  It seemed to be happening all on its own. 

   “Evolution run amok,” he’d heard one newscaster call it.

   He couldn’t help but wonder what Dr. Erskine would have made of it. Steve thought the doctor would have found it all terribly exciting.

   “’Neutral ground’?  Still thinking strategically, huh, Capsicle?”  Stark laughed.  “You saw the monitor.  There are only three of them.”

   They had indeed watched the car—a vintage Rolls—arrive in the underground garage.  One man had helped an older one into a wheelchair—Steve knew the professor was a paraplegic, so this must be him.  The other man had seemed to stand guard as Maria Hill greeted them and escorted them to the elevators.

   When the elevator finally arrived and the doors opened, Steve was able to get his first look at Xavier up close.    

    Professor Charles Xavier had staged his own comeback from the dead not long before Steve’s own.  On learning that Steve had been curious enough to look him up.  What he’d learned had impressed him. 

   Steve knew a lot of brilliant men, and Xavier sure seemed like one of those.  But more than that Steve admired what seemed to him like Xavier’s genuine commitment to minimizing conflict between mutants and humans, and his compassion for those most of the rest of society had turned their backs on.

   Perhaps it was this commitment that led the other two adults to hover around the Professor as they did, as if they were shielding him on both sides from any threat that might appear.  One of them, a slender man of medium build with dark hair and eyes, smiled politely if warily.  The other, a muscular man with what looked like a permanent five-o-clock shadow and an air of barely contained impatience, just curled his lip.

   For the moment Steve decided to ignore them and focus on Xavier.  He was completely bald and clearly confined to the chair.  He had remarkably intelligent eyes.  Those eyes immediately seemed to pick Steve out from the rest of the group.

   The Professor smiled at him and held out a hand.

   “Captain Rogers.  It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

   His voice was low, polished, and smooth, the kind of voice Steve had always associated with education and money.  Xavier could have gotten a job doing announcements on the radio if he’d want to do so.  Steve smiled inwardly as he imagined the mutant reporting the play-by-play in a Dodgers game.

   He shook the offered hand.  “Call me ‘Steve,’ please.  And it’s nice to meet you, too.  These are my friends Sam Wilson and Tony Stark.”

   “Mr. Wilson, Mr. Stark,” Xavier said cordially.  “Good day to you both.  This is Kurt Wagner and Logan.”

   Wagner turned out to be the slender man; Logan, the large one.

   Everyone exchanged polite greetings and handshakes.     Even, after a long, rather awkward moment, Logan.  The mutant’s hand had no natural give under the skin, leading the Captain to wonder if the reports on the composition of his skeleton were really true after all.

   “Come on in; I’ve had coffee sent up,” Stark announced.  “And scones.  I’m not sure what they are but Pepper says they’re really good.”

   “How kind.”  The Professor followed Tony into the large room that served as a sort of all-purpose room for the Avengers.  His wheelchair was motorized but made barely a sound on the polished floors.  Everyone else followed in afterwards.

   Tony rubbed the back of his neck.  “Have a seat wherever you’d like—well, not you, Professor Xavier, obviously, but you know what I mean.”  He grabbed the coffee pot.  “How to you take it?”

   It took another few moments for everyone to settle down with their coffee drink of choice.  Steve couldn’t help but notice that not only had Logan refused coffee, he also refused to sit down, prowling restlessly instead by the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

   He wasn’t as tall as Steve but he was powerfully built.  While the other three wore suits Logan wore jeans and a leather jacket over a plain t-shirt.  The hair on the sides of his head stuck up rather oddly, and he had sideburns, a fashion Steve saw on very few men these days. 

   Steve was glad he was meeting this man on friendly terms.  He didn’t seem like someone you’d ever want to meet on unfriendly ones.

   “Mein Freund,” the slender man finally told Logan.  “Do please sit down.  You are making everyone nervous,” he said with a gentle laugh.

   The last name of Wagner, combined with the pronounced accent, made Steve really focus his attention on the other man for the first time.

   “Ach ja, Sie sind deutscher?”  Steve asked him.

   Wagner smiled widely.  “Ja, das bin ich. Ihre Deutschkenntnisse sind sehr gut.”**

   “I’m a bit rusty,” Steve confessed in English.  “Not a lot of call for it these days.”

   “I like to think there will always be a place for the language of Goethe and Schiller,” the Professor added.

   “Professor, forgive me,” Steve said.  “As nice as this chat is I get a feeling this isn’t a social call.  You wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to contacting me through Bruce Banner if it was.”

   “No, indeed.”  The mutant’s expression grew serious.  “You see, Captain—Steve—my sources tell me you are still attempting to make contact with the individual known as the Winter Soldier.”

   Steve felt a cold chill run down his spine.    

   “Am I correct in that assumption?” Xavier asked.

   The Captain was silent for a long time.  He didn’t like that Xavier was asking about Bucky.  He liked the idea that the Professor had his own “sources” even less.

   Sam was sitting up straighter, listening closely.  He was watching Steve closely, too.

   He didn’t need to speak for Steve to know what his friend was thinking.  Sam was afraid of Steve getting his hopes up again, only to have them dashed.

   But Steve finally nodded at Xavier.  “Yeah.  Yeah, you are.”

   “I will not ask you why, of course.  That is your business.  But I will tell you that I believe I know his whereabouts.  Or at least his most recent whereabouts.”

   It was all Steve could do to not leap to his feet.  “How?”

   The last time the Winter Soldier had been seen was in DC, and Steve had been the last person to see him.  There had been rumored sightings since then, of course, but nothing Steve had been able to confirm.  If Bucky had ever been captured on a security camera anywhere, he’d been damn sure to keep his head and his cybernetic arm covered.

   The Professor folded his hands in his lap.

   “I was told.”

   “’Told’ by whom?”

   “That, I’m afraid, is a rather long story, Steve.  But I will tell it to you, if you like.  You see, I was told this by a mutant named Mercy, relayed through the mind of another mutant named Caliban.  I will spare you the explanation for how that worked, but please do accept my assurance that it is indeed possible.”

   He knew Xavier was a telepath.  As hard as it was for Steve to believe there were such people, he was willing to accept that if people could read each other’s minds then it was reasonably possible you could do so over long distances, too.

   “I’ll accept that it’s possible,” Steve admitted.  “”But I still don’t understand why you would go to so much trouble to let me know.”

   “Because,” Xavier told him. “I believe you and I may be able to help one another.” 

    Meanwhile Stark, who’d been listening and studying his guests over the rim of his coffee cup, finally caught sight of something that actually interested him.  He pointed at Wagner’s left wrist.

   “What’s that?” 

   “Tony, not now.  And it’s not polite to point,” Steve told him.  He was still busy wracking his brain trying to figure out what Xavier was up to.

   “’Polite’ my ass,” Stark retorted.  “That is a serious piece of hardware.  What’s it do?”

   To Steve it looked a bit like a very wide wristwatch.  But Tony was clearly seeing something he wasn’t.

   But Wagner just smiled.  “It was custom built for me.”  He held out his arm so Stark could see it better.

   Tony’s eyes narrowed cannily.  “Forge, right?  I bet it was Forge.  His designs always kind of emphasized raw tech over aesthetics.”

   “Who’s Forge?”  Sam asked around a mouthful of scone.

   “A mutant, one very gifted in manipulating technology,” the Professor explained.  “I believe he and Mr. Stark have had some dealings over the years.”

   “Yeah, I tried to keep the son-of-a-bitch on staff, even offered him a hell of a retainer and his own boutique firm under the Stark Industries banner,” Tony confessed.  “He wouldn’t go for it.”

   “Yes, Forge does value his independence, I’m afraid,” the Professor said with a slight nod.

   “So what’s it do?”  Stark demanded again.

   “Go ahead and show ‘em, Elf,” Logan said.  It was the first time he had spoken.  He still hadn’t sat down.

   Wagner glanced over at the Professor.  “Do you think I should?”

   The Professor shrugged slightly.  “It is your choice, Kurt.  Mr. Stark does seem terribly curious.”

   “Yeah, I am, I totally am.”  Tony was bouncing up and down in his seat like a kid at Christmas.

   “It’s a holographic generator,” Wagner confessed.  “It generates a field around my body that makes me appear more…ordinary.”

   “Very cool.”  Stark was nodding his head.  “Very, very cool.  Not new tech, exactly.  But Forge figured out how to make one small enough that the emitter can be worn on the body.  Damn, he’s good.”

   “So, what you look like now, isn’t what you really look like?”  Sam asked with a puzzled frown.

   “Correct.  It works as long as the observer does not make actual contact with me.  If they do the illusion becomes apparent.”

   “How so?”  Tony demanded.

   Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  Tony was hijacking the proceedings, as he often did.  He was about to interrupt when he noticed the Professor out of the corner of his eye.  The older man was shaking his head ever so slightly at Steve, as if to say, _don’t interfere.  Let Stark have his fun_.

   Kurt held out his right hand.  “Touch my hand and you’ll see.”

   Without hesitation Stark did as he was bid.  After a second he frowned.  “You only have two fingers.”

   “Two fingers and a thumb,” Wagner corrected.  “On each hand.”

   But Steve, and apparently everyone else in the room, still saw two normal, five-fingered hands emerging from Wagner’s sleeves.

    “That’s one hell of a hologram,” Sam observed.

   “It gets better,” Logan said with a sharp grin.

   “Here, I’ll turn it off.”  Wagner tapped at the buttons on his emitter, and a moment later the image they’d been seeing since he’d arrived shut down.

   The clothing was still the same.  But Wagner’s skin was blue, and etched with strange markings that gave his skin an almost map-like surface.  His eyes were yellow not brown, and the teeth in his mouth looked sharp.  There were indeed only two fingers and a thumb on each hand, each digit topped with a long, curved fingernail.  His feet, now bare, also only had three digits on them.  The ears under his blue-black hair were pointed.

   Oddest of all was the long, sinuous tail that curved up from behind him, its end pointed just like in the pictures of the Devil Steve had once seen in Sunday school.

   Stark was the first one to speak.

   “Holy shit,” he said.

   Wagner smiled.  “It’s the tail, isn’t it?  It’s usually the tail.”

   “It’s the ears,” Steve said.  He glanced over at Logan.  “That’s why you called him ‘Elf,’ right?  Because of the pointy ears?”

   “Why not Spock?”  Sam asked.  For someone who didn’t have any more experience with mutants than Steve did, he was taking the X-man’s extraordinary appearance extremely well.

   “Too obvious,” Logan growled.

   Wagner just smiled indulgently.  With surprisingly deft finger he unhooked the holographic device and handed it to Stark.

   “Just please don’t break it.  I do still need to get home, you know.”

   Tony just nodded, already deeply engrossed in his examination of this new piece of technology he had not had a hand in creating.

   Steve cleared his throat, anxious to get back to the topic at hand.

   “Professor, what is this all about?”  A new and alarming idea occurred to him.   “You don’t have an interest in the Winter Soldier, do you?”

   “No.  No, I do not.”  The Professor spoke definitively.  “Or at least certainly not the interest Hydra, the CIA, and MI6 now have in him.  What I do have an interest in is recovering Mercy, Caliban and the other mutants they are with if I can.  If the Soldier is in the same location he’s a potential danger to them.”

   “More than ‘potential’, I’d say,” Sam corrected.  “Sorry, Steve, but the Professor here hasn’t seen him in action the way you and I have.”

   “We’ve seen the footage of what happened in DC, of course,” the Professor continued smoothly.  “And we’ve been following his activities in Europe closely, as no doubt the three of you have as well.”

   Steve had to shake his head.  “We’ve seen those reports.  None of those attacks have been confirmed as him.  Interpol insists they’re random coincidences.”

   “Interpol is wrong,” Logan snorted.  “Like they usually are.”

   “So then how…?”  Sam asked, trailing off in confusion.

    “How do we know it’s him?  Well, I grant you, he has been very good at covering his tracks.  And on the surface the attacks certainly seem random enough.  But as I said we have our own sources of intelligence, Mr. Wilson, ones I am happy to report were not compromised by recent events.”

   Steve clenched and unclenched his fists.  Ever since that day he’d been attacked at headquarters he’d had no idea who he could really trust.  He’d thought he’d been able to trust SHIELD, and look what had happened.  And this man was a stranger.

   But Tony had spoken the truth: this stranger was widely considered one of the most powerful mutants on the planet.  If there was even a chance Xavier could help him get to Bucky…

   “Can you read his mind?”  Steve ground out, almost against his will.  “The Soldier’s?”

   “From this distance?  No, I cannot.  And it’s entirely possible that even if he was in front of me I could not do so.  All powers have limits, Captain, including mine.”

   “But maybe you could.” 

   Even to his own ears Steven knew he sounded desperate.  And he was.  Bucky needed his help, and the longer he went without it the more Steve feared he’d never be able to reach him again.  He’d gotten through to him once, briefly, but it hadn’t been enough.

   “Perhaps.  I’m sorry, but there is no way to know for certain right now.”

   Sam reached out and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder for a moment.  Steve found it oddly calming.  He took a deep breath and tried to quiet the emotions roiling inside of him.

   “Why are you interested in this guy, anyway?”  Sam asked the Professor.  “He’s not a mutant…”  Sam paused and frowned.  “At least, I don’t think he is.”

   Xavier waved a hand slightly.  “We know those are most likely HYDRA facilities he is destroying, Captain.  And we need him to stop.”

    Rogers ran a hand through his hair.  “Stop?!  Do you have any idea…”

   “I can assure you I do, Captain,” Xavier interrupted.  “I have lived in this world for a very long time.  Believe me when I tell you I know exactly what HYDRA, and organizations like it, is capable of doing.  I have seen it firsthand.  But you must understand what has been happening while SHIELD and the Avengers were otherwise occupied.”

   “It is important that what we are about to tell you goes no further than the six of us,” Wagner said calmly.  “Doing so will endanger not only us but all of you as well.”

   “Who are we going to tell?”  Sam asked no one in particular.

   “HYDRA’s been kidnapping mutants,” Logan said shortly.

   Steve blinked at this news.  He’d seen too much of the world to be surprised, exactly, but he also knew better than to jump to conclusions. 

   “How do you know this?”  He asked Xavier.

   “There have been scattered missing persons reports on mutants around Europe for some time.   Authorities generally have looked the other way.  You must understand that this is tragically common when crimes against mutants occur.” 

   The Professor’s gaze was dark but steady.  “In the last year the numbers of missing have accelerated, and we have been unable to locate any of them.  This means they are being deliberately shielded from me and from people like me.  The missing have nothing in common, save being mutants, generally Class 2 and Class 3.”

   “Class?”  Sam asked with a puzzled frown.

   “A rather crude ranking of powers and abilities,” the Professor explained.  “Not one we generally use among ourselves, of course.”

   “It means those being taken are more powerful than most mutants out there,” Logan added.  “And someone’s been very carefully covering their tracks.” 

   “In the past HYDRA gained much of its knowledge about metahumans at the cost of mutant lives.  Given what we have learned of the organization’s reemergence and it’s infiltration of SHIELD, our belief that they were likely the ones behind this recent activity as well have proved correct,” Xavier continued.  “What we did not know is why.”  

   “What you’re saying is horrible.  But if you have evidence, can’t you get the authorities involved?”  Sam asked.

   “We appealed both to SHIELD and to Interpol for help.  But neither were interested in expanding the investigation beyond the local authorities,” Wagner explained.

   “No surprise there,” Logan scoffed.

   “That is why, for the last year, one of our operatives, codenamed Mercy, has been on the inside, working for Hydra.”  Before Steve could open his mouth the Professor held up one hand.  “And, yes, I know she was taking an extraordinary risk.  In fact I tried to talk her out of it.”

   “She’s kinda stubborn,” Logan said with a shrug.

   Tony, obviously satisfied with his examination of the hologram emitter, set it down on the table.  “And she’s been able to get data back to you?  That’s something not even SHIELD has been able to do.  Hawkeye says none of their agents ever came back.”

   “Mercy has a rather…unique set of skills,” Xavier admitted. “She would not have been the first mutant to turn against her own kind, and Hydra found her too useful to dig any deeper.”

   “OK, so you’ve had someone on the inside.  Now what?”  Steve asked.

   Xavier leaned forward in his chair.  “Now, Captain, we need to get her back.  And as many of the others as we can, as safely as we can.  Kurt and Logan will be leaving for Europe tomorrow.  We want you to help us.”

   “You want me to deal with the Winter Soldier.”  Steve pressed his lips in a grim line.  “You think he’ll hurt your people.”

   “I do not presume to know what he will or will not do.  But its clear Mercy no longer feels it’s safe for her to stay embedded within Hydra, and that she feels she will no longer be able to protect the others, or she would not have risked contacting me.”

   Steve stood.

   He wanted Bucky back.  He wanted his friend back.  The last thing he wanted to do was to risk harming Bucky again.

   But there were others in danger now, too.  Others who needed his help.

   Sam stood as well.  “Well, I don’t know about Cap, here, but I’m in.”

   Steve shook his head.  “Sam…”

   “It’s not your decision, Steve.  I’ve got my wings back, I’m good to go.”

   Cap shut his eyes for a moment.  Finally he opened them, nodding grimly.

   “OK, then.  I’m in, too.”

 

**  “Oh, you’re German.”

   “Yes, I am.  You speak German very well.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: Wow, I really did not intend for there to be so much Tony Stark in this chapter. But he has a way of taking over, doesn’t he?  
> So, gentle readers, a query for you: should Tony go with Cap, Sam, Logan, and Kurt on the hunt for Mercy and the Winter Soldier? Is it going to be a fab four or a fab five? I’m torn: on the one hand, Stark’s a pilot; on the other, he’s so obnoxious Logan may kill him before they reach New Jersey. Review and give me your thoughts in the matter, please!


	5. The Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, now that we’ve cleared that up: the star?” Forge repeated.  
> Soldier looked down at it again. It was a mark. It was a brand. They had branded him.  
> But it was his arm now. His brand.  
> “Leave it,” he said.

Ch. 5

_The Present Day_

 

   Tony Stark could be obnoxious, imperious, and rude.

   But Steve had also found him to be loyal, smart as a whip, and generous to a fault.

   Without so much as a whisper of complaint and in less than a day Tony had arranged to have his private plane fueled and ready for Xavier’s rescue mission.  This was one of Tony’s own designs: smaller and more versatile than a private jet, with the functionality of a harrier in less than half the size and weight. 

   Tony had also come up with the team’s cover story.  He’d leaked to the press that he was flying himself to Paris for a series of business meetings.  That’s what the flight plan said, and nobody was likely to question Tony Stark.  Even the meetings were real, hastily arranged by Pepper Potts in order to make sure no one, least of all Hydra, had any idea what was really afoot.

   When they’d reached a private landing strip outside the French capital city Tony had tossed the wireless starter to Sam.

   “Just don’t scratch it, Falcon,” the billionaire had said with a grin.  “And call if you need me.”

   Now, looking out the window at the early morning sky, Steve couldn’t help but notice Sam was still gripping the controls a little tighter than he had to.

   “You doing ok, there?”  He asked.

   “Yep,” Sam said through gritted teeth.

   “You do not look ok,” Kurt observed from the co-pilot’s seat, where he sat with his knees drawn up to his chin.

   “Hey, I did plenty of flight time in the army, and this thing basically flies itself,” Wilson explained.  “A smart eight-year-old could operate it.”

   “Explains how the flying toaster oven manages,” Logan said with a grunt.

   “It’s trying to keep us above radar that’s freaking me out a bit.  I really don’t want the air force of whatever country we’re flying over at the moment…”

   “Germany,” Kurt supplied helpfully.

   “…to come after us.”

   “Yes, Logan and I have been shot down before,” Kurt said with a flick of his tail.  “It is not fun.”

      “I’ll bet it isn’t.  And, man, how can you stand to sit like that?”  Sam demanded of Wagner.  “I’ve been watching you out of the corner of my eye for the last hour, and I’m getting a charley horse just looking at you!”

   Kurt smiled proudly.  “I am very flexible.  I used to be an acrobat in the Munich circus.”

   “No shit?”

   “No shit.”

   “Yeah, he’ll tell you all about some other time,” Logan interjected.  “According to the professor the last site where he heard from Mercy should be just to the west of here.”

   “I still don’t understand how Xavier can pinpoint a location like that from thousands of miles away,” Steve said.

   “He’s the Professor.  You’d be surprised what he can do.”  Logan pointed through the windscreen.  “See there?  Smoke?”

   Kurt sat up and put his feet on the floor.  He’d left the emitter that hid his appearance in New York.  His long toes now gripped at the metal floor.  “Are you sure?”

   Steve frowned.  “Yeah, that’s what it looks like to me, too.”

   “Well, that’s not good.”  Sam adjusted the controls and headed in that direction.  He studied his instruments.  “Radar says there are no other contacts in the area.  Whatever happened down there happened recently, or somebody would have reported it.”

   “We’re in the middle of nowhere.  Who was gonna do that?”  Logan speculated out loud.

   “Sam, do you think you can put us down in that clearing?  There, about five hundred yards from those buildings?  If there’s anybody still at home I don’t want them to see us coming.”

   “You got it, Cap.”  The pilot deftly maneuvered the plan downward, and set them down with barely a bounce.

   “I’ve detected a landing, sir.”  The tinny voice of Jarvis, Stark’s AI, came through the speakers.

   Both Kurt and Logan jumped.

   “Oh, Jarvis, I forgot all about you,” Cap said apologetically. 

   “Understandable, sir,” the AI replied.

   “Logan, Kurt Wagner, this is Jarvis.  He’s an artificial intelligence Tony built.  He sort of…keeps an eye on things.  Here, at Stark Tower, inside the suit…uh, wherever.”

   “Hello, Mr. Logan, Mr. Wagner.”  Jarvis said politely.

   “Uh, hello.”  Still looking a little confused, Kurt waved two fingers in the general direction of the speakers.

   “It’s not ‘Mr. Logan,’ it’s just Logan,” the other X-man corrected, looking both irritated and mildly offended.

   “My apologies, sir.  I shall make a note of it at once.  Mr. Wilson, Captain Rogers, shall I inform Mr. Stark of your location?”

   “Yeah, good idea, Jarvis.  Tell Tony to keep his com open if he can.  If something goes south here it’s going to go south fast.”  Cap hit the latch that opened the back of the plane.  He frowned a bit, wondering what they were about to walk into.

   “I also detect that Logan and Mr. Wagner are carrying their own internal communication system.  Shall I link them into ours to streamline the conversation?”  Jarvis offered.

   “Yeah.”  Cap reached into an overhead bin and withdrew two of the earpieces the Avengers sometimes used.  He put on one and gave the other to Sam.  Then he carefully stepped out of the plane into the woods, surveying the landscape.  Kurt followed him, Sam and Logan a few yards behind. 

   There was a small tinny screech that made Steve wince, but a moment later he could hear Jarvis in his ear.

   “Mr. Wagner, if you would be so kind as to speak into your own com so I can check the levels?”  The AI requested.

   Kurt frowned a bit, but touched a small badge he wore on his collar.

   “I do not understand why Mr. Stark needs such a thing,” he said aloud.  “One that goes everywhere with him?”

   “Yeah, that’s not creepy at all.”  Logan had also activated his com; Steve could hear him quite clearly.

   “Eccentric billionaires,” Sam said wryly.  “What are you going to do?”

   “Look sharp, everybody,” Cap told them.  “The facility we saw from the air is that way.”

   Steve had opted not to don the uniform, but he did have his shield strapped to his back.  It had been fished up from the bottom of the Potomac.

   Tony had hammered out the worst of the damage Bucky had inflicted upon it.  It hadn’t yet been tested in combat, but it had performed just fine in the lab. 

   Steve fervently hoped that it would work in the field, too, and that he wasn’t about to walk into a situation where he’d have to use it against Bucky.  He didn’t think he’d be able to do that again.

   But if it came down to protecting Sam or Kurt or even Logan…

   He shook the grim thought from his head.

   “Smell of smoke’s getting stronger,” Logan said quietly as they moved cautiously through the underbrush.  He sniffed the air once, twice.  “I can smell gunpowder.  Motor oil.  Blood.”

   “From here?” Sam asked.

   “Oh, yeah.  You never forget those smells.”

   Cap halted at the edge of the clearing, and Logan nearly walked right into him.

   “What are you doing?”  The mutant asked as Steve crouched down.

   “Reconnaissance.  Get down.”

    Logan dropped down next to him.  Sam and Steve followed.

   It was an open space, large enough to land a plane.  On three sides were heavy, bunker like concrete buildings.  They were either leftover from World War 2 or built to look like they were.

   The concrete was now pitted with small arms fire.  There were a few bodies lying in the courtyard.  Smoke rose from several small fires.  There was no movement. 

   Steve could now smell what Logan had been describing.  The scent of the battlefield.  He wondered idly whether Logan, too, was a vet, and if so, of what war. 

   “How long ago do you think it happened?”  Sam asked.  No one had to ask what he was referring to.

   “A day at most.  The dirt’s soaked up most of the blood.  And like you said, Sam—any longer and the smoke would have drifted far enough for someone to report it.”  Cap frowned. 

   “We would have the highest and best vantage point there, above the central building,” Wagner observed quietly.

   “But we’d have to cross into the open to get there.  It’s too risky.”  Steve shook his head.

   “For you three?  Perhaps.  But not for the Amazing Nightcrawler.”

   Steve frowned.  “Huh?”

   “Elf’s a teleporter,” Logan explained.  “If he can see it, he can reach it.  No feet on the ground required.”

   Steve processed this for a moment.  Teleportation was a whole new idea to him.  But he could see the distinct advantage to what Kurt was proposing.

   “You’re ok with doing that?”  He asked the X-man.

   “Yes, I am.  I will be quite safe.”

   After a moment Steve nodded.  “Ok, then.  Report back once you…”

   But Wagner was already gone, in a swirl of purple-black smoke that momentarily engulfed them.

   “It’s all clear,” Kurt’s voice said over the con.  “No one is home.”

   Sam and Steve exchanged a long look. 

   “Tony said it, and I’ll say it again.  Holy shit.”  Sam shook his head.  “Man, we could have used you in Afghanistan, Wagner.”

   “Kurt could have never joined the army,” Logan said with a growl-like laugh.

   “Why not?”  Sam asked.

   “No room inside a dress uniform for the tail,” Kurt said over the com.  He laughed softly.

   Steve pulled off his shield and hung it over his arm, in preparation for entering the area.

   “OK.  I’ll go first.  Sam, you take left flank; Logan, you take right.  We’ll meet up again by the main doors.  Kurt, you see anything so much as twitch you holler nice and loud.”

   He gritted his teeth.

   “Let’s move.”

* * *

 

   Soldier woke up with his legs tangled in blankets and his head wedged against the wall.

   It took him a moment to remember where he was. 

_Magneto._

_Bulgaria._

_Safe._

_Safe?_

   He still wasn’t so sure about that.

   After his strange conversation with the mutant he’d been shown to this room.  It had a comfortable bed and its own bathroom.  All the toiletries he could possibly need had been laid out for him, and there were clean clothes and a pair of new boots on the bed.

   Magneto’s minions had been busy.

   He’d spent some time studying his face in the bathroom mirror.  When that failed to prove enlightening he examined his injuries, deciding none of them merited further treatment.

   He’d taken a long, hot shower, something he doubted Hydra had ever allowed him.  The feel of the superheated water washing sweat, blood, and dirt down the drain had been the closest thing to pleasure he’d felt in his very short memory.

   He’d shaved and then, naked, had examined the new clothing.  He immediately rejected the new pants in favor of his old ones because they didn’t have enough pockets to carry all the weapons he would need.  But the black, long - sleeved t-shirt was acceptable, as were the thick, heavy black boots.

   No sooner had he dressed than another frightened-looking woman—another servant, he guessed—had brought him a tray of food.  He hadn’t recognized any of it, but after careful consideration had decided his need for fuel outweighed any other considerations. 

   To pass the time he had tried to figure out what the food had tasted like.  But he had quickly realized he had no memory of tastes he could compare these to.  What did he like?  What didn't he like?  He had no memories of food.

   It had been an exceptionally strange experience, sitting on the edge of a soft bed with a full stomach. 

   He had had no idea what to do for the next few hours until the sun came up.  He didn’t know if he could read in any language, and there were no books in the room anyway.  There was no television.  If he listened hard he could hear some of the other people in the building, snippets of conversations that had nothing to do with him.

   He’d always been alone, but this was a different kind of alone.  There were no handlers hovering in the background, no doctors expecting him to return for maintenance and storage.  No Lukin.

   The bed had been too soft for him to lay on, so he’d moved the blankets and pillows to the floor.  He’d lain there for some time, thinking about his plans, and at some point he’d drifted off to sleep.

   He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fallen asleep naturally.  Even in DC he’d forced himself to stay awake and alert, ever on the watch for Hydra and for the Man in Blue.

   _Steve_ , one of his dreams had told him.  _Steve.  That’s his name_.

   _You know me_ , the blond man had said.

   Then the nightmares had begun.

   Now, squinting in the daylight, Soldier couldn’t remember very many details about them.

_Blood.  Screaming.  His?  Someone else’s?_

_Pain.  So much pain…_

_Please God let me die…_

   His head hurt.  And his throat.  And his eyes. 

   He reached up now to feel his eyes.  Salt flecked his lashes, as if he’d been weeping in his sleep.

   But that made no sense.  A weapon couldn’t cry.

   A knock on the door startled him, and he instinctively reached for his gun.

   There was no gun there.  Magneto had not returned it.

   Soldier settled for pulling a knife from his boot.

   “What?”  He told the threat outside the door.

   “Get up.”

   It took his mind a moment to process the voice and give it a name. 

_The woman.  The blue one.  Mystique._

   He slid the knife up his sleeve where he could reach it easily.  Then he got up and opened the door.

   “Magneto says it’s time to fix your arm.  Come down to the lab.”

   Without even waiting to see if he’d comply she turned her back on him and walked away.

   Soldier frowned.  But he followed her.

   He supposed it was odd she wore no clothes.  But her skin didn’t look like skin.  And she moved with so much confidence it was easy to forget was nude. 

   As he followed her he studied her shoulder.  There was a pale pink area just below her shoulder blade, and no doubt a matching one on her front.  All that was left of yesterday’s gunshot wound.

   They descended three flight of stairs to what was clearly the heart of Magneto’s operation.  There were no sumptuous carpets here: just cold stone walls and large, cave-like open spaces.  No doubt they had once held the trappings of luxury: gold bullion and fine wines, perhaps, or expensive cars.

   Now they contained the two planes Magneto had used, as well as racks of weapons.  Other mutants were moving to and fro, busy with what looked like preparations.  But preparations for what?

   In the far corner of the hanger several workbenches had been pulled together to create a crude workstation.  It was a lab only in the sense that it was full of equipment of every kind.  But there was nothing sterile about it.  This was, at best, organized chaos.

   A tall, rangy man with a goatee and goggles looked up as they approached.  He wore a gold earring.  His smile was wide and a little cocky.

   A tiny piece of a memory suddenly flitted across Soldier’s mind, of a similar smile, a similarly handsome face, stretched upon a wide movie screen, as swords clinked and clashed around it…

   Before Soldier could begin to make sense of it the memory was gone.

   Sitting on the edge of one of the tables was the other woman from the previous day, the one who had healed Mystique’s injury.  Mercy.  She looked none the worse for wear, although she was frowning now.

   “Mystique, you should be in bed,” she said.

   “You’re not my doctor.  Or my mother,” Mystique retorted. 

   “Maybe not, but I’m still _a_ doctor.  My powers jump-started your healing process, but I didn’t replace your whole immune system.  You still need rest to fully recover.”

   The blue woman just rolled her eyes.  She reached out and kissed the man with the goatee, fully and deeply, on the lips.

   Mercy’s frown deepened.

   “Hi, baby,” Mystique said to the man as she broke off contact.  “Why is _she_ here?  You heard what Magneto said.”

   “He said we had to watch her, and I’m watching her,” the man replied.  “C’mon, Mystique, she’s an old friend.  She won’t make any trouble for me.”

   “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Forge,” Mercy said tartly.

   He ignored her comment and then turned to face Soldier, pushing his googles higher up on his head.  “Hey, man.  How’s it going?”

   Soldier wasn’t sure how to answer that.  He just nodded.

   “Talkative, aren’t you?”  Forge said with a grin. 

   “I’ll leave you to it,” Mystique told him.  “Magneto want to see him when you’re done.”

  “Sure thing.” 

   Mystique left them, and Forge pulled up a rolling metal chair.  “Sit down.  Let me take a look at this arm I keep hearing about.”

   For a split-second Soldier debated stabbing the stranger.  Soldier did not want to sit down, and he did not want anyone touching his arm. 

   But the more rational part of his mind realized he’d need function in that arm back if he was to complete his mission.  There were no restraints on the chair, and no armed guards standing nearby.

   With a reluctant nod Soldier sat down and pulled off his shirt.

   The man called Forge whistled.

   “Wow, Magneto wasn’t kidding.  That is a serious piece of hardware you’ve got there.  Stark tech, I’ll bet you.  Where did you get it?”

   After a long moment Soldier realized the man was actually waiting for an answer.  He’d been so used to people talking around him or through him that he wasn’t expecting that.

   “It was installed.”

   “Well, yeah.  But whoever ‘installed’ it must have ripped it off from Stark Industries.  Like, a prototype, or a prototype of a prototype, or something.  Man, is Tony going to be pissed when he finds out!”

   Soldier had no idea what Forge was talking about.

   “Can you fix it?”  He asked.

   "I can fix anything.”  Forge reached out to lift the immobile arm, and for the first time Soldier realized that one of Forge’s own hands, his right one, was also made of metal.

   Forge followed the Soldier’s gaze, and laughed.  “Yeah, I’m in the club, too.  In fact, I’ve got the set.”  He pointed downward, and Soldier could see Forge’s right foot had also been replaced.

   “I got shot down in Iraq, must be, oh, fifteen years ago now,” Forge said conversationally as he rotated Soldier’s arm at the elbow, experimenting with the range of motion.  “You even been there?”

   Soldier thought about this.  “Probably.  We wouldn’t have been on the same side.”

   “From what I’ve heard about you, no, we wouldn’t have been.  But all’s fair in love and war, right?”

     Soldier couldn’t answer that.

   Forge continued to study the arm for a while in silence, only occasionally muttering to himself.

   “You can stop fuming over there, Mercy,” he added as he worked.

   “I’m not fuming,” the woman said.  She had folded her arms over her stained blouse.

   “Seriously, I can feel you glaring at me from over there.  If you want to say something, say something and get it over with.”

   “I have nothing to say,” Mercy said frostily.  “But…”

   Forge grinned.  “Here we go.”

   “Seriously, Forge, Mystique?  Mystique?  Of all people?”

   “You don’t know her, Mercy.  Don’t judge.”

   “’Don’t judge’?  Mystique, Forge!  So what, things didn’t work out with Storm and…”

   “This has nothing to do with Ororo.”

   “Yeah, sure.”  Mercy’s voice softened a bit.  “You’re going to get hurt, Forge.  Sooner or later she’ll hurt you.  I still consider you my friend--I don’t want that for you.” 

   Forge set down a wrench a bit harder than he had to.

   “You don’t know Mystique like I do, Mercy, so just drop it, ok?”

   He deliberately turned back to Soldier. 

   “So the circuits that carry the electric impulses down from your shoulder are fried.  But it should only take me a few minutes to replace them.  I’ve got some of my own design: much harder to overload than this Hydra crap.  Sound good?”

   Soldier shrugged.  “Fine.”

   “You want to keep the star?”     

   Glancing down at his left shoulder, Soldier noticed the red star emblazoned there.  As far back as he could recall it had always been there.

   “You could remove it?”

   “I could probably replace that panel with something similar.  Wouldn’t affect the functionality.  But in my opinion it’s actually kind of badass.”

   “All my arms have had that.”

   “What do you mean, ‘all’ of your arms?”  Mercy asked, for the first time turning her attention back to Soldier.

   “I think I’ve had several.”  He searched his memory.  “Three?  Maybe three.”

   “Jesus, no wonder you have so much scarring.  Repeated tissue damage—“ 

   She reached out to the flesh of his shoulder.  He instinctively flinched away from her.  It was one thing to let someone touch the cybernetic arm.  It was something else to let them touch his bare skin.  He’d learned long ago that touch would always be followed with pain.

   But Mercy’s hand dropped immediately. 

   “Oh.  Shit.  I’m sorry.”

   Hydra would not have apologized: they would have beaten him, or worse, for resisting. 

   Soldier titled his head down.

   “It’s all right.  You can examine it if you want.”

   “No, it clearly isn’t ‘all right.’” 

     She jumped down from the bench and moved to stand behind Forge, where Soldier could see her more clearly.  She looked distressed.

   “Look, the Brotherhood aren’t my favorite people either, but they’re not Hydra.  Here you have the right to tell me or anyone else ‘no.’ You do know that, right?”

   When he didn’t reply she continued.

    “If I, or Forge, or anyone else comes near you and you don’t want us to, you tell us.  ‘No' works.  So does ‘back off’ or ‘get your fucking hands off me.’ With or without the swearing.” 

   Forge chuckled.

   Soldier finally nodded.  “I understand.”

   “Good.”  She gave a firm nod of her head.

   “So, now that we’ve cleared that up: the star?”  Forge repeated.

   Soldier looked down at it again.  It was a mark.  It was a brand.  They had branded him.

   But it was _his_ arm now. _His_ brand.

  “Leave it,” he said.

* * *

 

   Steve moved carefully through the damaged hallways of the Hydra facility.  Kurt had been right: there were no signs of life anywhere in the compound.  Just bodies, and all the signs of a really fierce fight.

   There were no signs of Bucky, either.  But the way so many guards had been killed, with such ruthless efficiency, made him think that his old friend had indeed been there.  Voluntarily?  Or involuntarily?

   Steve suppressed the cold shudder than ran down his spine.

   “Cap, you there?”

   He pressed a finger to his com unit.  “Yeah, Logan.”

   “Come down to the lab.  Level 3.  Got something I want to show you.”

   Steve did as Logan requested, following what seemed to be the main staircase deeper underground.

   He stopped short when he arrived.  “Shit.  Are those…cells?”

   “Yeah.  A couple dozen of them, at least.  Continue past them: Sam and I are at the far end.”

   Steve tried not to look too closely at what he was passing.  There were beds in each cell, and restraints, and stains on the walls that did not bear closer examination.

   Past the cells was a larger, open space.  Damaged lab equipment was scattered everywhere.  Bullet holes marked most surfaces.

   He whistled.  “Some seriously fierce fighting went down here,” he said.

   “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Sam said, gesturing for Cap to join him and Logan.  They were standing next to the remains of a collapsed wall.  Judging from the smell there were bodies under it, too.

   “What the hell happened here?”

   “At a guess?  Avalanche,” Logan offered.

   Cap was getting the hang of this now.  “Another mutant?”

   “Yep.  Part of the Brotherhood of Mutants.  Magneto’s crew.  Causes earthquakes, landslides, basically whatever form of geologic destruction he’s in the mood for.”

   Steve might not have been an expert on mutants, but even he had heard of Magneto.  The outlaw mutant leader had grown so powerful and amassed so many followers that Cap had always half-expected to have to go up against him himself sometime.

   Which would be a problem, considering Cap’s best weapon was made of metal.

  Sam eyed Steve closely.  “If this was a Brotherhood attack then we’ve got bigger problems than the Winter Soldier.”

   “I realize that,” Cap said shortly. 

   “You still think he was here?”  Logan asked.

   “Yeah, I do.”

   Steve rubbed his forehead. 

   Bucky working with Magneto?  He supposed anything was possible at this point but none of it made any sense…

   “Gentlemen?”  Kurt’s voice came in over the com.  The teleporter had been moving from level to level, searching much more efficiently than the rest of them could on foot.

   “What’s up?”  Logan asked.

   “I’d like you to join me, please.  I’m three rooms away from you.  A storeroom of some kind, I believe.”

   Cap looked at Logan, but the mutant just shrugged.

   The three men made their way in the direction Kurt had indicated.  It looked like doctors or guards had tried to barricade themselves in here.  There was overturned furniture everywhere, slowing their progress.

   At last they turned a corner to find Kurt sitting on top of a desk, his tail swaying in small, cautious circles.

   “Kurt?”  Cap asked.

   The blue mutant put a finger to his lips.  He then pointed downward, indicating the space beneath him.

   Cap and Sam both pulled out their guns, but Kurt wagged a cautious finger at them.

   “Do not frighten him, my friends,” he said softly.

   “Frighten who?”  Sam demanded, also in a quiet voice.

   Steve set down his shield and tucked his gun away.  He bent down to take a look in the dark space beneath the large desk.

   Two large, reflective eyes blinked back at him.

   He started and nearly fell backwards, banging his elbow on a chair.

  Logan bent down to peer over his shoulder.

   He snorted. 

   “Nothing to freak out about, Cap.  That’s just Caliban.”

   Steve rubbed his elbow.

   “Ok, I’ll bite.  What’s a Caliban?”

  

 

 

  

  


	6. Ch. 6: What is Lost and What is Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since what was already AU has been rendered even more AU by the release of AofU, I figured it was high time to finish this story. For those of you just tuning in this story takes place after TWS but before AofU.  
> Most of the characters belong to Marvel, not to me. Any errors or omissions are my own.

Ch. 6: What is Lost and What is Found

 

   “So,” Magneto said to Soldier once the latter’s arm was repaired.  “Better?”

   Solider experimentally flexed the metal limb.  “Yes.”

   The older man smiled a bit.  “And I assume you know exactly where you want to go, yes?”

   Soldier nodded.  “Marseilles.  There was a Hydra cell there, operating out of an old factory.  Maybe they’ve abandoned the site, maybe they haven’t.  But I can make damn sure they’ll never be able to use it again.”

   “Very well.  As you saw we are well supplied with weapons; you may take what you think you will require.  Toad will fly you there and bring you back when you’re ready.”

   Almost without thinking Soldier had fallen in step behind Magneto as the older man walked.  “Understood.”

   “And you will not forget our little compromise, will you?”  Magneto said silkily.

   “No, I won’t.  Any mutants I bring to you.”

   “Good boy.”  Magneto paused and turned to face him. 

   “Oh, you should be aware that I, like anyone else, have my enemies.  A rather irritating group of mutants who follow a man called Charles Xavier.  They call themselves the X-men.”

   Soldier nodded.  “What Mercy is.”

   “Yes.  And while I doubt they are aware of my current operations it is entirely possible that they will have sought ought your old friend Captain Steven Rogers for assistance.”

_The Man in Blue.  Steve Rogers._

   “What about him?”  Soldier asked. 

   “I trust that your former…association with the Captain is not going to affect your resolve to deal with Hydra?”

   Soldier shook his head.  “No.  I’m not who I was.  Today I’m Soldier.  That’s what matters.  And I’m going to tear out Hydra’s throat.”

   Magneto’s smile was wide and almost feral. 

   “Good.”

* * *

 

  Gathered around a campfire in the woods, Steve, Sam, and the two X-men watched as the mutant named Caliban stuffed himself with MREs. 

   Stark had made sure the jet was stashed with emergency supplies.  But Cap doubted Stark had ever anticipated a hungry mutant eating him out of house, home, and aircraft.

   Sam glanced over from where he was heating up yet another packet for their own supper and grimaced a bit at Caliban’s lack of table manners.

   Military rations had come far from Steve’s day, when it was mostly Spam in a can and hard crackers.  The one Sam was preparing smelled vaguely like curry and actually not half bad.

   Unfortunately the same could not be said for the cigar Logan was puffing away on.  But Steve wasn’t in the mood to complain.  He looked expectantly at Kurt instead.

   “Did you get anything else out of him while you were checking him for injuries?”  Steve asked quietly.

   When they had lifted off from the ruined research facility Kurt had sat in the back of the plane with Caliban, carefully tending to his minor injuries.  Apparently Wagner doubled as the X-men’s medic as needed.

   Now Kurt shook his head, his black hair falling into his yellow eyes.  “Just what he told all of us.  That is was definitely Magneto, and that he took both Mercy and your friend with him.”

   Steve sighed and rubbed his eyes. 

   He’d thought Caliban would have proved to be a useful witness.  But setting aside his exceptionally odd appearance—large, dome-like bald head, eyes twice as large as they should have been, long spatula-shaped fingers—Caliban seemed almost child-like.  He’d been terrified of Sam and Steve.  Although he’d clearly recognized Logan and Kurt it had still taken them nearly half an hour to coax him out of his hiding place.  Then he’d spent most of the short flight whining that he was hungry.

   Most grating of all was the mutant’s tendency to speak of himself in the third person. 

   “Caliban’s still hungry,” he now announced, crumpling up the foil packet he’d been eating from.

   “It’s not ready yet,” Sam retorted.  “You’ll just have to wait.”

   If Cap didn’t know any better he’d swear Caliban was now _pouting_.

   “What are we doing to do with him?”  Steve said Kurt.  “He’ll slow us down.”

   “Don’t get your panties in a knot, Bluebell,” Logan interrupted before Kurt could reply.  “We already contacted the Professor.  Ororo’s on her way to pick him up and get him back to New York.  Hey, Caliban?”

   The bald mutant looked up.

   “Storm’s going to take you back to the States, all right?”

   Caliban nodded his head vigorously.  “Caliban likes Storm.  Caliban hates it here.  Caliban wants to go back to the Morlock tunnels.”

   Kurt shook his head.  “Caliban, you know no one’s down there anymore.  It’s not safe.  Storm will take you back to the school.  You can see the Professor again—won’t you like that?”

  Caliban stuck out his lip mulishly.  Steve guessed that was a no.

   Sam looked at the mutant with new interest.  “You were a Morlock, Caliban?”

   The wide-eyed man grinned.  “Caliban was the first Morlock.  Caliban found all the others.  Even Mercy.”

   Steve frowned, searching his memory.  He’d read about the so-called Morlocks—mutants with severe deformities who’d been cast out from society and had lived on the streets—and in some cases under the streets—of New York City.  Few had known of their existence until they’d been murdered by another faction of mutants.  Ethnic cleansing, he’d heard it called.  Nearly forty men and women had died in what the tabloids had called the Mutant Massacre. 

   But that had happened years ago, before he’d returned, before Loki and before the attack on New York.  Before the Avengers.

   “You never mentioned Mercy was a Morlock,” Sam said to the two X-men.

   “What difference does it make?”  Logan responded.  “She had her reasons.”

   “Mercy provided medical care for them. But unlike most of the other Morlocks, she was always able to pass for non-mutant,” Kurt explained.  “She had already left the tunnels before the attack happened.  In fact she was the one who convinced the others to send the children to the Institute, to school.   So thanks be to God all six of the youngest Morlocks survived.”

   “Morlocks always survive,” Caliban said, more to himself than to the others.  “Morlocks always fight dirty.”

   “Yeah, bub.  We know,” Logan said patiently.  “At least you had the brains to hide during the attack, huh?”

   Caliban just grinned.

  Kurt sigh heavily.  “That was a very dark day for all of us,” he told Steve and Sam.  “Mercy was away at Muir Island when the attack happened, but she came back as soon as she heard to help treat the wounded.  She saved a lot of lives that day, including my own.  But, sadly, she could not save everyone.  I think that has haunted her ever since.”

   “Which is probably why she got it into her head that she could save mutants from Hydra.”  Logan tapped ashes from his cigar into the fire.  “She’s got a bit of a savior complex, if you ask me.”

   “Do not judge others, Mein Freund, lest they judge you,” Kurt reminded him.  He brushed off his hands and stood.  “If supper isn’t quite ready I think I’ll call Amanda.  Otherwise she will worry.”

   After Kurt had disappeared into the jet Sam raised his eyebrows at Logan.  “Amanda?”

   “Girlfriend.”

   Sam laughed a little bitterly as he gave the MRE one last stir and lifted it off the fire.  “That figures.  Furry blue guy with a tail has a girlfriend.  I can’t even get a date.”

* * *

 

_One week later…_

   The Hydra facility in Marseilles appeared to have been abandoned in some haste.  There were papers crunching under Soldier’s boots as he moved silently through the building.  This had clearly never been a site for human experimentation: there were no cells, no labs.  Soldier suspected this had been more administrative in function.

   But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to take the place apart.

   He had already set several charges when he heard a soft voice from behind him.

   “Bucky.”

   Soldier whirled around, gun at the ready.

   The Man in Blue was standing there, looking at him.  The windows in the old warehouse were so filthy the light was dim.  But Soldier could see the strange look on the Man in Blue’s face.  The same look he’d had on the helicarrier.  

_You’re my friend._

_You’re my mission._

   Soldier raised the gun higher.  “Go away.”

   “Just listen to me for a moment, please.”  The man clipped his shield onto his back, holding up both hands to show they were empty.

   “How did you find me?”

   “We have a list of possible Hydra facilities, too.”

   “We?”

   “Shield.  Or what’s left of Shield.”  The man looked sad.

   “Go away.  I can’t be who you want me to be.”

   The man—Steve’s—mouth opened and then shut again.  “What are you talking about?”

   “I’m not him.  I’m not Bucky.  I haven’t been him for a very long time.  Now leave, or I will shoot you.  Or stay, and get blown up with the rest of this building.  Your choice.”

   “Look, just put the gun down and talk to me.  Just talk to me.”

   Soldier felt his finger on the trigger twitch ever so slightly.  “No.  I have a mission.”

   He was so intent on Steve that he wasn’t watching his flank.  Something slammed into him with the force of a freight train. 

   He went flying, fortunately with the gun still in his hands.  A pair of large booted feet landed on his chest, knocking what was left of his breath out of his body.

_Snnkt._

    Soldier looked up into six long knives.  They were protruding directly out of the stranger’s knuckles.

   “Where is she, bub?”  The newcomer demanded.  His breath smelled of smoke and meat and alcohol.  “Talk and I’ll be nice and kill you quick.”

   “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”  Soldier quickly twisted up a leg and kicked him off.

   The big man lunged for him again.  “Mercy.  She’s with Magneto and you know where Magneto is.”  With a downward slash the knives—claws?—came dangerously close to Soldier’s throat.

   “Logan, stop!”  Steve yelled.  “I said I wanted to talk to him!”

   “You had your chance!”  Logan yelled back.  “We’ve finally caught up to him.  I’m not letting him get away again.”

   “That was an order!’

   “I don’t take orders from you, Cap.”

   Soldier seized the moment of distraction and landed another kick to Logan’s ribs.  It was like kicking a steel door.  Logan punched him, hard, sending him sprawling again.

   A shower of sparks rained down.

   Steve had stepped between Soldier and the other man.  His shield had made contact with those metal claws. 

   “What the hell are you doing?”  Logan demanded.

   “Stopping you.  Stand down!”

   “Like hell!”

   There was a horrible scraping sound as the claws struck the shield again.  More sparks.  Soldier rolled out of the way as the two men grappled. 

   He knew when he was no longer needed.

* * *

 

   Cap didn’t know what the hell Logan’s claws were made out of, and he didn’t care.  He just knew that his shield wasn’t even making a dent in them.

   The only good news was that they weren’t making a dent in the shield, either.

   Logan fought like a man possessed.  He was all blind fury and ferocious energy.  Outside of the Hulk Steve had never seen a man fight like that.

   He didn’t want to hurt the mutant.  But he didn’t want to die at his hands, either.

   Logan was swinging at him so quickly that Steve was soon halfway across the floor, in front of the largest bank of windows.

   Which was when he noticed two things.  First, that Bucky was gone.

   And, second, that the detonators he’d seen Bucky place had started blinking.  Rapidly.

   “Remote detonator!”  Steve yelled at the top of his lungs.

   Logan paused, mid-swing.  “What?”

   “Remote detonator!”  Steve used his shield to point.

   “Well, shit,” Logan said.

   They both dove through the window.

   Seconds later the room exploded.

   A second spray of glass hit them, but Steve was more concerned about the four story drop to the ground.

   But he never hit it.  Instead he felt a sharp upward tug and was engulfed in purple smoke.

   A second later he was on the ground, and concerned-looking Kurt Wagner was standing over him.

   “Are you hurt, Mein Fruend?”

   Cap shook his head.  “No, I’m good.”

   A second later Logan was planted beside him, set down by a gasping Sam who immediately dropped to his knees.

   “Damn, man!  How much do you actually weigh?”  Sam demanded of Logan.  Logan just glared back.

   “Well,” Kurt said thoughtfully, his four fingers tented together.  “I have to say I think that could have gone better.”

* * *

 

   Soldier didn’t know how long he’d been screaming.  He was vaguely aware that he was once again tangled in his sheets on the floor, with his back up against the wall.  But as too how long he’d been in that position he didn’t know.

   “Don’t you think we should do something?”  He heard one voice saying, as if from a great distance. 

   “You want to get your head taken off?  Go right ahead.”

   “He’s in the middle of a nightmare,” a third voice said.  “We need to be strategic about this.”

   “I don’t care what you do, just shut him up!”

   “Mortimer, get out of here or so help me I’ll have Gambit turn you into frog’s legs _étouffée_!  Forge?”

   “Yeah.  On it.”

   One of the voices had crouched down closed to Soldier.  “Dude, it’s Forge.  I know you can hear me.  You’re having a nightmare and you need to snap out of it before you bring down the whole place around our ears.”

   Soldier shook his head. 

   Blood, so much blood.  Couldn’t look. Mustn’t look…

   “Soldier, listen to the sound of my voice,” a second voice, a female one, said.  “I want you to focus on it.  Just hear my voice, ok?  Can you hear it?”

   This time he managed to nod.

   “Good, that’s really good.  Now, listen—you’re hyperventilating.  So I want you to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.  Really slow and steady, ok?  It will help slow your heart rate down.”

   “That’s an order, Soldier,” the other voice added.

   “Not helping, Forge.  Now, Soldier, breath in—that’s it, you’ve got it.  Now out, real slow.  Good.  Keep doing that.”

   After a few minutes Soldier’s vision began to clear.  He could now see both Forge and Mercy bent over him, looks of concern on both their faces.

   “Keep breathing,” Mercy urged him.  “In and out.”

   The red haze over his mind at last lifted.  Soldier knew he was back at the Brotherhood headquarters, back in his room.  He didn’t know what he’d been dreaming about.

   “Welcome back,” Forge said with a grin.

   Soldier looked into those bright eyes and at the golden earring.  “Errol Flynn,” he said.

   Forge blinked.  “Huh?”

   “That’s who you look like.”  Soldier started to cough, and Mercy handed him a glass of water.

   Forge looked over his shoulder at the doctor.  “That guy Kurt’s obsessed with?  Where did that come from?”

   “Well, you do kind of look like him.  A memory must have just kicked in.”

   “Yeah, I guess he’d be old enough to have actually seen those movies on the big screen, huh?”

   “Are you two done yet?”  Mystique had appeared, leaning against the doorway to the hall.  “Some of us would like to get some sleep.”

   “It’s PTSD, babe.  Bad.”  Forge sounded almost apologetic.  “He’s coming out of it now, though.”

    Mystique appeared to be unmoved.  “Great.  Then let’s go.”

   “Mystique, c’mon…he really shouldn’t be left alone…”

   “You go,” Mercy told him.  “I’ll stay here with Soldier for a while.”

   “You sure?”

   “Yeah.  Go on.”  Mercy waved in Mystique’s general direction but didn’t bother making eye contact with the other woman.

   “Thanks.  You come and get me if you need me,” Forge told her.

   “Um hum.”

   When they were alone Mercy smoothed the blankets back down over him.  “Do you want to get back into bed?”

   Soldier thought about this.  “No.  I like the floor.  I’m used to the floor.”

   “OK.  Floor it is then.”  She sat a few feet away, her back propped against the mattress.

   For the first time he looked at her closely.  He could see fading bruising along one side of her face and across her collarbone.

   “Did I do that?”

   She smiled slightly.  “No.  That happened earlier today.  I’m afraid I got tired of waiting for Magneto to come through on his end of the deal and, well, I tried to make a break for it.  He sent Sabretooth—Victor-- after me.  You remember him—big guy, looks like the unholy offspring of a lion and a professional wrestler?”

   Soldier nodded.

   “Well, let’s just say Sabretooth kind of likes smacking around women.  It’s a good thing I’m a fast healer.”

   Soldier remembered the claws on the man’s hands, where his fingernails should have been.  He abruptly remembered the other man who had attacked him.

   “There’s another man with claws.  Much, much longer claws.  He’s looking for you too.”

   To Soldier’s surprised Mercy actually looked cheered at this news.

   “Logan?  You saw Logan?”

_Logan, stop!  I said I wanted to talk to him!_

   “Yeah, that was his name.  The ma—Steve Rogers…got between the two of us.  Otherwise I don’t think he would have stopped.”

   “I’m sorry for that.  Logan’s been a good friend for a very long time.  But he does tend to be overprotective and when he gets angry…well, you’ve seen what happens.”

   “He’s a mutant?  Like you?”

   “A mutant and an X-man, yes.”

   Soldier shook his head.  “I don’t understand.”

   “Don’t understand what?”

   “This world.  I don’t understand this world,” he said bitterly.

   He took a moment to try and compose his thoughts. 

   “How can I still be alive?  How did Steve Rogers survive in that ice?  Why are there men who can fly now?  Why does Magneto hate your Professor Xavier so much?”

   Mercy shifted a bit.  “That’s a lot of questions.” 

   She smiled gently.  “But if you want I’ll try and answer them for you, if I can.”

   “I’m not going to sleep any time soon.  So you might as well.” 

   Soldier leaned his head against the wall, and listened.  He asked the occasional question, but mostly he was content to just listen to the sound of her voice and to the stories she told.

   Shortly before dawn he at last drifted off to sleep again. 

 

    

 

 

 

 

  

 

  

  

 


	7. Ch. 7: Trust

Ch. 7: Trust

 

   “So,” Tony Stark said over the video link to the jet.  “Did the Marseilles tip pay off?”

   Cap dabbed at his split lip.  “Not exactly.”

   “Which means…?”

   “He and Logan had a little bit of a disagreement about how to proceed,” Kurt chimed in from the seat behind him.

   “More a disagreement about chain of command,” Steve grumbled.

   “Nobody ever said you were in command, bub,” Logan retorted from behind Sam’s seat.

   From the controls Sam leaned over a bit so Tony could see his face.  “I’ve changed my mind about this whole superhero gig, Stark.  How about you come take over?”

   Tony laughed.  “No way, Falcon.”  He turned his attention back to Steve. 

   “Look, I know considering our history I’m the last person who should be saying this but you two need to set aside your differences and work together.  Barnes is still hitting Hydra facilities, and Interpol and M5 are on to him now.  You’re not going to be the only ones out there looking for him anymore.  You’re running out of time.”

   “And we still don’t know what Magneto’s end game is here,” Kurt added.  “That worries me.”

   “That worries all of us.”  Logan leaned back in his seat.

   “Ok, let’s start over here,” Tony announced.  “I’ve got some fresh intel here, courtesy of a certain red-headed spy.  I’m going to transmit it up to you guys.  Some of it’s so hot off the presses it still needs to be translated.  But luckily for us it’s in German, so, Kurt?”

   “I’m on it.”

   “Good.  Over and out.”

   As he turned off the video link Cap rotated his shoulder and winced a bit.  Neither he nor Logan had suffered any permanent injuries from their fight.  But Cap was going to have to contact Tony privately and figure out why his shield wasn’t a particularly effective weapon against Logan’s claws.

 

* * *

 

   This time it wasn’t Soldier’s screams that woke everyone up.  It was someone else’s.

   He blinked his eyes open, surprised to discover that it was still dark and he must have actually been asleep.  He’d spent a tough few days dealing with Hydra remnants in Prague.  He’d come back bruised and exhausted.  So far exhaustion to be the only sure-fire remedy for sleep he’d discovered.

   He eased himself off the floor and went to the door, listening closely to the noises before cautiously opening the door.

   He discovered several others had done the same, including Mercy, a few doors down.  She glanced over at him in the dim light as the voices became louder and the words thus audible.

   “You fucked him!  I can’t believe you would do that?  I was barely gone two days!  How could you fuck him?!?”

   “It’s none of your business who I fuck!  I can do what I like!”

   Soldier quickly placed the voices as belonging to Forge and Mystique.  He knew their room was further along the same corridor, but the old stone walls of the castle carried sound exceptionally well.

   “I can’t believe you would do this to me, babe!  After everything we’ve been through!”

   Forge now not only sounded angry but also deeply pained as well.  Soldier abruptly remembered that Forge was Mercy’s friend.  He glanced back over at her, seeing her wince.  When she saw Soldier looking at her she closed her door.

   He did the same.

   The door muffled the yelling, but didn’t block it out entirely.

   Sleep eluded him after that.

* * *

 

   The next morning Soldier went down to the lower levels to change out his empty cartridges for full ones.  The hangar doors were open, and he wasn’t entirely surprised to see that Forge’s workbenches were now empty.

   After restocking his ammunition supply he picked up his gun and went to stand on the tarmac, waiting for his flight.

   Forge was there, two large duffel bags at his feet.  He and Mercy were conversing in low tones.  In the daylight Soldier could see what he’d missed last night: Mercy was once again badly bruised.

   Soldier waited until Mercy had walked away before approaching.

   “Hey, man,” Forge said to him.  “Toad said he’ll be dropping you in Amsterdam today.  I’m going to ride along, if that’s cool with you.”

   Soldier could read the strain in the taught skin around the other man’s eyes, and in the flat set of his lips. 

   Soldier suspected the boy from Brooklyn might know something about what to say to a friend—was Forge his friend?  Soldier supposed he was—in these circumstances.  That boy might know something about heartbreak, or at least about breaking hearts. 

   But when Soldier searched his memory he came up empty. There were no soothing words on his tongue.  

   “Where will you go?”  He asked instead.

   “Oh, don’t worry about me.  Old Forge has friends everywhere he goes.”

   Soldier just nodded. 

   “So, listen, you and Mercy are going to be the only two sane people left around here after I leave,” Forge said to him.

   Soldier raised his eyebrows slightly.

   “You know what I mean.  Keep an eye on her for me, will you?  You saw how banged up she is this morning.  The longer Magneto tries to hold her here the more she’s going to try to bolt.  And the more she bolts the more Victor messes her up when he catches her.  Which he always will.”

   “Magneto’s already said she’s too valuable to kill.”

   “I’m not talking about Magneto, I’m talking about Sabretooth.”  Forge spat out the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.  “You and I both know there are about a hundred different ways he could hurt her without actually killing her.”

   Forge had picked up his bags and was walking towards the plane.

   “She isn’t my responsibility,” Soldier told him. 

   Forge shook his head.  “I’m not saying she is.  All I’m asking is for you to look out for her.  After all, you’ll be the closest thing to a friend she has here when I’m gone.  And Mercy’s a good ally to have.” 

   He winked a bloodshot eye.  “I’m gonna go stow my gear.  See you around, Soldier.”

   Soldier wanted to say something compassionate and wise to Forge.  Something like what he suspected Steve Rogers would say. 

   But once again words failed him.

 

* * *

 

   Days passed.  He carried out a successful operation in the Netherlands.  At this rate he was going to run out of Hydra targets.

   But it still had not brought peace to him, or quieted his mind.  The high-level targets still eluded him.

   So one day when Magneto called him to his study and announced that he knew the location of Aleksander Lukin Soldier felt no joy.  Only a strange sense of relief.

   “This operation will require more than you, my young friend,” Magneto told him.  “The base in Berlin is exceptionally well guarded.  The Brotherhood will accompany you.

   “Just keep them out of my way,” Soldier replied.

* * *

 

   Soldier organized the mission himself.  Two dozen of the most powerful of Magneto’s Brotherhood.  Both planes.  A great deal of guns.

   The target was in the heart of Berlin, Magneto told him.  A slight complication, but nothing Soldier had not confronted before.

   They waited for night to fall before approaching the city by air.  It was always easier to operate under cover of darkness.  They found a small, seldom-used commercial runway for landing.

   All went smoothly on the ground until they deplaned.

   That’s when he saw the line of black SUVs heading for them.

   Soldier pivoted on his right foot to warn the others, only to have his gun abruptly jerked out of his hands.

   But no one was near him.

   He looked over at the other plane to see Magneto standing at the bottom of the loading ramp.

   With a flick of Magneto’s wrist steel cable tore it loose from the inside of the jet.  It wrapped itself around Soldier’s ankles, knocking him to the ground.   Another flick and a piece was wrapped around his wrists.

   He struggled for a moment, and the cable tightened until Soldier could feel it cutting off his circulation.

   “I want you to understand, my dear boy, that none of this is personal,” Magneto told him as he stood over him.  “You’ve done your job and done it well.”

   The old man signaled to Toad.  “Keep the engines running, Mortimer.  We shan’t be here long.”

   The SUVs pulled up alongside the two planes. 

   Vassily Roschenko emerged, heavily armed guards on both sides of him.  More guards exited from the other vehicles.

   “Well, well,” Roschenko said, staring down at Soldier.  “You’ve lead us a merry dance, haven’t you, dog?  There will be no more running this time.”

   He kicked Soldier in the ribs, hard.  But Soldier refused to react.  He merely waited to see how this played out.

   “Magneto.”  The Russian paused several yards away from the powerful mutant.

   “I have done as you requested.”  Magneto nodded at the prone form of the Soldier.  “The question is, have you done as I requested?”

   The other mutants had gathered at the foot of the cargo ramp.  Roschenko eyed them nervously.

   “We have.  Dr. Lukin send his complements.”

   He gestured to one of the gunman, who returned to the vehicles.  From the rear seat he and another man pulled two figures, both with shackled hands and feet and hoods over their heads.

   The two prisoners were marched toward where Roschenko was standing.  At the Russian’s nod the hoods were removed.

   Soldier saw two people standing there.  One was a tall, lean man with silver hair.  The other was a slight women with dark hair and eyes.

   Soldier had never seen them before. 

   “Wanda.  Pietro.”  An odd expression was on Magneto’s face as he looked upon them.

   “Magneto,” the woman said with a nod.

   “As promised,” the Russian announced.  “Now hand over the Winter Soldier.”

   “Of course.”  With a swift movement of hands Magneto pulled the Soldier upright again.  He moved him closer to the Russian and this thugs at the same time Wanda and Pietro, under their own power, moved closer to Magneto.

   Two guards seized Soldier’s arms as soon as he touched the ground.  A gun was pressed to the nape of his neck.

   “And where is the other one?”  Roschenko asked.

   “Right here.  Mystique?”  Magneto called.

   From the other plan Mystique emerged, leading a bound and bloodied Mercy by the arm.

   This the Soldier did not anticipate.

   “Mr. Roschenko, Dr. Angela Bennett, as promised.  The viper you cradled in Hydra’s bosom for so long.”

   “I told you you couldn’t trust him, didn’t I?”  Mercy said to Soldier.

   “You did,” he admitted.

   “Hello, Wanda.  Hello, Pietro.  We’ve been looking for you two for a long time,” Mercy told them.

   Wanda’s expression did not change.  But Pietro frowned.

   “Magneto…?”  He began.

   But the older man waved him off.  “A discussion for another time, my boy.  It’s time we were going.”

   The other mutants obeyed.  Only once the ramp doors had closed behind them did Magneto allow the steel cables constraining Soldier to fall away.  Handcuffs were slapped in their place.  With a gun pressed to his head there was little he could do.

   Magneto paused one last time at the foot of the other jet’s ramp. 

 “As I told Soldier, this isn’t personal, Dr. Bennett,” he informed her.  “Both of you are remarkable young people with extraordinary gifts.  But this,” he smiled, “is about family.”

   Mercy frowned, her eyes quickly traveling to the other plane, already taxing down the runway.  “You mean, Wanda and Pietro..?”

   He didn’t answer.  “Good bye, Mercy.  Good bye, Soldier,” was all he said.

   And then they were alone with their new captors.

 

  

  

  


	8. Ch. 8: Dying is Easy; Adamantium is Hard

Ch. 8: Dying is Easy; Adamantium is Hard

 

   Soldier had no doubts about exactly where they would take him.  So he was not surprised when after they were driven into the heart of the city he was separated from Mercy.  He was led upstairs to the very top of the building.  Two walls of the room were glass, and beyond one of them lay a wide balcony.

   At last he was in front of Dr. Aleksander Lukin. 

   They might have been in a modern skyscraper instead of a hidden bunker, but the floors were still metal grating, the better to let blood and other bodily fluids drain away and the easier to clean.  The lab seemed to occupy an entire floor of the building, with enough room for a large team of doctors and more than three dozen Hydra guards besides. 

   Lukin had still surrounded himself with the tools of his trade: the chair, the table with metal straps, the needles and vials and cables Soldier only remembered in his nightmares. 

   But this was no nightmare.

   Lukin did not look well.  His skin was sallow and waxy, and sweat dripped from his forehead even though the room was cool.  His hands were shaking.  Even the other doctors in the room seemed to be giving him a wide berth.

   “There’s nothing to worry about now,” the doctor told him.  “I knew you’d be back.  I’m going to repair whatever damage has been done, and we’ll begin again.”

   Soldier was restrained and couldn’t lunge.  He settled for spitting on Lukin.

   The doctor backhanded him across the face.  Lukin wasn’t a big man, but he was strong and the blow knocked Soldier to his knees.

   Oh, he remembered those blows!  So very, very many, over the years! 

   For some reason Lukin’s blows had always seemed the cruelest to Soldier.  Perhaps it was because they’d been together for so long.  Lukin had always been the one to make sure Soldier was in fighting condition, to make sure he’d had what he’d needed to complete his missions.  The Winter Soldier had wanted only to please his handlers.  And, until DC, he had.

   It had been a twisted, sick kind of dependency.  It had made the beatings all the more bitter, like when a master strikes a faithful dog.

   Just then another fragment of a memory flashed through Soldier’s mind: of himself, although much younger, standing in front of a thin, sickly boy whose nose was bleeding from a beating.

   “I hate bullies,” he heard that boy—himself--growl at the toughs who’d cornered the weaker boy in an alley.  “I hate ‘em, so I’m gonna teach you all a lesson you ain’t never gonna forget.”

   “Enough.  Wipe him.  Now,” Lukin said.  He was rubbing his temples as if in pain.  When the other doctors didn’t move quickly enough he turned on them in fury.  “Move!  Move!”

   The guards tried to haul Soldier to his feet again, but he resisted.

   “I’m surrounded by incompetents!!  Lukin roared.  “Get him up or you’ll be next!”

   Even the well-trained guards now seemed confused.  Lukin had always been a cold man, a precise man.  This sweating, screaming figure was nothing like him.

   A guard pressed a gun to the back of Soldier’s head.  Still he did not move. 

   Instead Soldier puzzled over Lukin’s odd behavior. 

   He’d expected Hydra’s exposure in DC and the Winter Soldier’s defection to have hit Lukin hard.  After all, the Winter Soldier had been Lukin’s weapon, as perfectly crafted and honed as if he’d been made of metal instead of flesh. 

   But had it all been enough to unhinge the doctor completely? 

   This was a man Soldier had seen carve into living human bodies without so much as blinking at their screams.  This was a man who had used or loaned out his perfect weapon for decades, wiping him and putting him away when he was finished like a little girl with a doll. 

   Soldier had no doubt that Lukin was insane.  But this was some new kind of insanity, one even Lukin’s own people had not seen before.

   The doors opened again, and three guards entered dragging Mercy with them.  Her right arm was soaked in blood and her fist was clenched as she tried to stop the flow.

     “I told you to lock the mutant up!”  The doctor shrieked.  “Why is she here?  I don’t want her in here until I’m finished with the asset!”

   “Forgive us, Dr. Lukin,” one stuttered.  “We put her in a cell.  But when we checked on her she had torn her arm open on the edge of the bars.”

     “Idiots!”  Lukin roared.  “Fools, all of you!”  He grabbed Mercy by the hair, yanking her head back.

   “You stupid girl, how dare you interrupt me?  Did you think if you damaged yourself I wouldn’t hand you over to the Baron, hmmm?”

   “I didn’t think anything of the kind,” Mercy told him. 

   “No?”  Lukin laughed.  It was a crazed, maniacal laugh, the laugh of the mad scientist he’d always been.  “Don’t tell me you were trying to kill yourself—I know all about you.  In fact I’m looking forward to seeing the Baron take you apart so we can find out how long it takes you to put yourself back together.”

   “Of course not.”  Mercy’s voice was strained from Lukin bending back her throat, but she sounded calm.  “I wasn’t trying to kill myself, and, if I was, it would take a lot more than a wound like this to do it.  I needed to retrieve something.”

   For the first time Lukin’s mad grin faltered.  His head whipped back in the direction of the guards.  “I told you to search her!”

   “We did, sir.  She had no weapons.”

   Lukin hissed, grasping Mercy’s head tighter.  “What have you done?”

   In response Mercy opened her fist.  In her palm was a small object, about the size of a silver dollar.  On one side was a tiny red light.  It was blinking.

  She turned her hand ever so slightly and the item, slick with blood, slid out of her grasp and down into the metal grating, disappearing from sight.

   “Ooops,” was all she said.

   With a roar Lukin knocked Mercy to the ground.  She landed not far from where Soldier was kneeling.

   She smiled ever so slightly at him.  “Cheer up, Soldier.  The cavalry is coming.”

   Soldier couldn’t help but smile ever so slightly back at her, even with the gun pressed to his skull.  “You’re one daffy broad,” he told her admiringly.

   Lukin shrieked again.  And then again and again, the sound echoing around the room like a banshee’s wails.

   “Dr. Lukin?”  Roschenko tried to lay a hand on the doctor’s shoulder.  “Sir, no one can get into the building; we’re too well guarded.  You know this…”

   Before the Russian could finish Lukin had shoved him away, with far greater force than a man of his size should have been able to muster.  Roschenko went sprawling backwards into the lab table.

   “You’re all such fools, and you, Roschenko, are the worst of them all!” 

   Lukin seemed to be both laughing and crying, clutching at his head as if it would keep it on his shoulders. 

   “ _Du Lusche_!  Insect!  _Sitzpinkler_!  Oh, the years I have wasted on you!  Oh, the years I have wasted in this body!”

   And then Lukin reached up and began to gouge away at his skin of his face.  His nails left deep rivers in the flesh, but the man seemed barely to feel it. 

   Large chunks of skin and sinew began to land at his feet, but there was surprisingly little blood.

   Nobody in the room seemed to have the slightest idea how to react.  Several of the doctors and at least one of guards turned away from the sight, gagging in horror.

   Soldier kept watching, as layer after layer was peeled away.  Lukin’s face was a bloody, red mess.

   At first Soldier’s damaged mind couldn’t quite make sense of what he was seeing.  But as Lukin at last finished the grisly business he recognized what was happening.

  “Well, that’s something I never expected to see twice in one lifetime,” Soldier said wryly.

   Even to his own ears that sounded like something a boy from Brooklyn might say.  Next to him Mercy laughed shakily.

   “So,” Red Skull said to no one in particular, “now you see.  Now you understand.” 

   He shoved one of the guards and grabbed his gun out of his hands. 

   “Now you will see where the real power of Hydra lays.”

   With that, Red Skull shot Roschenko neatly between the eyes.

* * *

 

   “You’re sure this beacon thing is accurate!?”  Steve called over the whistling of the wind. 

   They’d been combing Berlin for hours from the air, drawing on their new intel to try and pinpoint where Hydra might be holed up. 

   Then, out of nowhere, the X-Men’s com unit had started to ping with a team member’s distress signal.  Both Kurt and Logan had insisted that it could only be Mercy trying to contact them, calling for help.

   Neither Tony, nor Sam, nor Steve had dared argue with them.

   “It’s accurate to within a few feet!” Logan now yelled back.

   “It could be a trap!  How do you know it’s hers!?”

   “That’s just it: it isn’t!  It Kurt’s!”

   “Huh?!” 

   “Long story!  I’ll explain when we’re not hanging out of the back of a goddamn plane!”

   “You’re sure you want a ride down like this!?  We’re going to hit hard!” Steve cautioned. 

   Logan flexed his claws.  “You got a better idea for getting me in there, bub?!”

   “Not at the moment!” Steve admitted.

   “Then quit yapping and let’s go!” Logan said grimly as he wrapped his hands around the straps that held Cap’s shield to his back.

* * *

 

   With that, Red Skull shot Roschenko neatly between the eyes.

   A second later Solider saw Steve Rogers and the man Mercy had called Logan come crashing through the roof, evidently from some height.

   Roschenko had perhaps been right about no one being able to access the building from the ground.  But from the sky had been an entirely different matter.

   A moment later two more men appeared through the new hole in the ceiling.  Literally appeared, in a puff of purple smoke like something out of a magic show.

   One was the winged man Soldier remembered from DC, his wings now carefully folded into the pack on his back.  The other man had blue skin and a tail.  Both leapt into the fight.  Outside the windows Soldier saw a streak of light pass, as if something were flying by very fast.

  The Hydra guards opened fire.

   People screamed, and ran, and Soldier took advantage of the chaos to slam his own head backwards into the gun. That knocked the gun out of the hands of the man holding it. 

   It stung like hell, but it worked.  Even with his hands bound he was able to then ram into the closest guard and take him down.

   Mercy dove out of the way, scrambling for cover as Logan and several guards came crashing down where she’d just been. 

   Soldier could see the flash of Logan’s claws before he even heard the distinctive snnkt sound of them being unsheathed.

   Steve Rogers was in street clothes and not the ridiculous blue and red pajamas.  He still had the shield the Soldier had thought sunk at the bottom of the Potomac River.

   Rogers had seen Red Skull.  And he was fighting his way across the crowded room to try and get to him.

   “Need a hand?”

   Soldier looked up from the guard he’d just knocked unconscious into the bloody claws of the Wolverine.

   “Yes.”

   He held out his bound hands, and with a quick downward movement Logan had slashed through the metal cuffs.

   “Thank you,” Soldier told him.

   “Don’t mention it, kid,” Logan said, crouching down to intercept another wave of Hydra guards.

* * *

 

   As happy as Mercy was to see Logan, Kurt, Captain America, and whoever the fourth man was, she wished they had timed their entrance slightly better.

   If they had perhaps she wouldn’t have dived quite so near Red Skull when they came crashing in. 

   And if she hadn’t been so near it wouldn’t have given Skull the opportunity to decide she’d make a perfect human shield.

   He grabbed her by the hair again, along with a catling knife off a sterilized tray of medical equipment.

  Mercy kicked and bit as Red Skull dragged her out onto the balcony.  She was strong, but he was stronger.  The arm she’d deliberately gashed open twice in one day hadn’t healed yet and thus wasn’t of much use. 

   His hands were still shaking.  The catling scratched across her collarbone as they struggled, leaving a thin trail of red behind to match her blood-soaked sleeve.

   It hurt.

   That was the thing non-mutants didn’t understand about healing factors.  Just because a wound might heal didn’t mean it’s creation in the first place wouldn’t still hurt like an absolute bitch.

   It took a moment for her ears to adjust after all the small-arms fire inside the lab.  They were so high up that the wind was strong and whipped her hair into her eyes.  Far below the city lights sparkled like gems.

   “I’d let her go if I were you.”

   The voice that spoke was tinny but loud, as if filtered through a mechanical mouthpiece speaker.     

   Red Skull maneuvered her around in front of him again as he confronted the newcomer.

   “And who are you supposed to be?” 

   The Skull was speaking to a man in a red and gold metal suit as he landed on the balcony in front of them.  A small shoulder mounted gun had emerged from the armor and swiveled in their direction.

   “Iron Man.  Or Tony Stark.  Both, actually.  Y’know, my dad used to tell me stories about you when I was a kid.  And I’ve got to say—you’re even uglier than I imagined.”

   Red Skull chuckled bitterly.  “Howard Stark’s son. I should have known.  Only a Stark would built something so absurd.”

   “Absurd?  Maybe.  But I’m packing a lot of firepower in this thing.  So I’d suggest you let the lady go.”

   Mercy felt the catling slip further down, jabbing between the fourth and fifth ribs on her left side.  She hissed sharply when it broke the skin.

   Stark stopped moving.  Mercy suspected the suit was recalculating, trying to figure out if it could get a clean shot.

   She knew it couldn’t.  Even the most advanced technology would have to shoot through her to hit Red Skull.

   “Stay very still, Mr. Stark.  She may be a worthless mutant, but I suspect you do not want her on your conscience, yes?  Better yet, once I have him back in my control I’ll have the Winter Soldier kill both of you.”  Red Skull laughed.

   It was the laugh that made up Mercy’s mind for her.

   “No.  You’ve hurt him enough,” she said through her teeth.  “You’re not going to hurt anyone else.”

   She doubted if Stark could hear her over the wind, but the Skull certainly could.  He laughed again.

   “You cannot stop me, X-Man,” he hissed in her ear.

   “Actually, I can.  You see, there’s something about me you don’t know.”

   He twisted the knife sharply to the left, digging deeper between her ribs.

   “And what is that?”

   She reached up and put her hands on the hilt of the catling, over Red Skull’s.

   The faceplate of the suit opened, and Mercy could see Tony Stark looking at her.  He seemed to be saying something, but she couldn’t hear him.

   “I’m not an X-Man.”  Her eyes were beginning to sting from the wind.  “I’m a Morlock.  And Morlocks always fight dirty.”

   She shoved their hands upward, plunging the blade all the way through her ribs and into her heart.

   It hurt.  So much more than she’d ever imagined possible…

   Red Skull let go of her but not of the knife.  She felt the cold blade slide up and knick the fourth rib on its way out of her body.

   Kurt and Soldier came crashing through the door a second later, Kurt loping on both hands and feet the way he did when he was in a hurry.

   Through blurred vision she saw him teleport, and a second later felt him catch her just before she hit the ground.  He whisked her out of the way.

   Stark and Soldier both opened fire on the Skull.  He staggered backward for several feet, and lay still.

   Now on the other end of the balcony, Mercy did her best to keep her eyes open, as Kurt was urging her.  Her shirt was soaked through with blood but she couldn’t feel the dampness anymore.  She couldn’t feel anything.

   “I’ve got you, Mein Freund.  I’ve got you.”  Kurt was applying pressure to the wound, just as she had taught him to do.

   “No. No, no, no…”  Soldier was saying that over and over as he reached them.  He’d dropped the gun and was tearing at his hair.

   Tony Stark looked the most frightened of all as he arrived.  “I’m sorry.  Jarvis and I couldn’t get a clean shot,” he said.

   “She can heal from this?” Soldier asked Kurt.  “She said it’s what she does.”

   Mercy felt rather than heard Kurt shake his head.  “I’ve never seen her this badly wounded before.  I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

   No longer able to see she reached out and felt around until she could take Kurt’s two fingers in her own five.

   “Hey, Kurt, do me a favor?”  She managed to say.

   “Of course, anything.” 

   Kurt sounded like he was crying.  That made her sad: Kurt had always had such a tender heart.  That’s why she’d picked him to train as a medic in the first place.

   “Don’t let them bury me until you guys know for sure,” she asked.  “OK?”

   “I promise,” she heard Kurt say.

   She smiled ever so slightly, and then let herself slip down into the darkness.

* * *

 

 Steve couldn’t think about anything else as he slammed his shield into one Hydra soldier after another.

   Red Skull.

   Alive.

   How was that possible?

   Steve was alive.  Bucky was alive.  And now the Skull…

   He knew this was no moment to get philosophical.  But he couldn’t help but wonder again at what Dr. Erskine had wrought all those years ago.

   “Heads up!”  Wolverine sent yet another guard crashing into the shield.  Steve deflected and bounced the man into a wall.

   At least this time the Wolverine was on his side.  Logan was a ruthlessly efficient fighter.  He used his claws, his adamantium-infused skull, chairs, tables: everything was a weapon in his hands.

   “Damn,” Sam marveled as he came to stand again by Steve’s side.  “That’s one crazy dude.”

   Steve had seen Iron Man fly by a moment after Red Skull had escaped to the balcony, and Bucky and Nightcrawler fighting their way towards the door to join him.  As much as Steve had wanted to get his hands on the Skull, he had been on the other side of the lab, too far away to reach them easily.

   But now, as the fighting at last ebbed, he was able to tap the com unit in his ear.

   “Tony?  Do you have him?”

   For a moment there was only static.

   “Tony, I don’t have visual contact.  Do you have Red Skull?”

   The com crackled to life.  “Yeah.  He’s got a couple of bullets in him from your buddy the one-armed man.  And a couple of mine, too.  But he’s still breathing.  I’ve called in to Interpol.  They’re on their way.  We'll need to be gone when they get here.”

   Steve wasn’t sure if he trusted Interpol to take charge of the Skull, but without SHIELD he supposed it was their best option.  “Understood.”

   “Steve, is Logan still with you?”  Tony asked.

   “Yeah.”  Cap winced as he saw Logan head-butt one of the last guards still putting up a fight.  “He’s here.”

   “Tell him his friend is down.”

   Steve’s heart clenched.  “Kurt?”

   “No.  Mercy.  She’s dead.  At least, she looks dead to me.  But there seems to be some dispute about it.”

   Cap shook his head in case the com unit was malfunctioning.  “Come again?”

   “It’s a mutant thing, I guess.  Just get out here.  The jet’s on remote and will be here in five.  Let’s all be on it.  Over and out.”

* * *

 

   When Stark’s jet arrived Logan insisted on being the one to pick up and carry Mercy’s body aboard.

   The woman certainly looked dead to Steve.  He had seen death more times than he wanted to think about.  Her limp, bloodied form had all the hallmarks of it.

   Bucky—the Winter Soldier—hovered anxiously nearby.  He seemed…smaller, somehow. 

   “He’ll take good care of her.  They’re old friends,” Steve assured him.

   Bucky just nodded, his long hair in his eyes.

   Steve wracked his brain for something else to say.

   “Let’s go, guys,” Stark announced as Kurt and Sam hurried past him into the jet.  “International airspace is calling.”

   Steve glanced past Bucky to where Red Skull’s body lay.  Every fiber of his being was screaming at him not to walk away, not to trust the authorities to deal with the Skull.

   Cap’s hands itched to go over and finish the job. 

   He glanced up to find that Bucky was watching him.  Although there was no expression on the Soldier’s face, Steve had the very strong sense that Bucky knew exactly what he was thinking.

   “If you two would like to stay and visit with Interpol, you’re welcome to,” Stark told them.  “But it’s going to mean a lot of paperwork, and I hate paperwork.  Just ask Pepper.  The Germans, in particular, are sticklers for it.”

   Kurt’s blue head reappeared at the top of the ramp.  “Did I just hear you insulting Germans, Mr. Stark?”

   “Not all Germans,” Tony corrected hastily.  “Just the middle-management, intelligence agency ones.”

   “Uh huh,” Wagner said skeptically, his tail twitching behind him.

   “Stark?”  Bucky asked, finally seeming to notice Tony standing there.

   “Yeah.  This is Tony Stark.  Tony, this is…the Winter Soldier.”  Steve tried not to choke on the name.

   “Just ‘Soldier’ is fine,” Bucky corrected mechanically.

   “Nice to meet you.  We’ll get to know each other over a beer.  Or four.  Gentlemen?”  Tony held out a hand, indicating they should board.

   “We need to go,” Steve told Bucky.

   “Where are we going?”  Soldier asked.

   “How about New York City for a start?”  Tony was grinning, but Steve could see the strain and exhaustion beginning to kick in behind those dark eyes. 

   “Great bagels, fewer people who want to kill us,” Tony added blithely.

   “It isn’t safe here,” Steve said as Bucky seemed to hesitate.  Several stories below he could hear sirens as emergency vehicles began to arrive.  “Please, come with us.”

   At long last the Soldier just nodded.

   He followed Tony and Steve aboard, and the ramp closed.  Still on autopilot the jet lifted off into the air.

   Tony quickly stripped out of the suit and took the pilot’s seat.  “Home, Jarvis,” he told the computer.

   “Understood, sir,” the AI replied.

   Steve and the Soldier both took jump seats in the middle of the jet. 

   Near the cockpit a pull-down bunk had been set up to hold Mercy’s body.  She was strapped in.  Steve couldn’t help but notice that none of the monitors or other life-saving equipment he knew the jet contained had been deployed.

   Nightcrawler was kneeling down next to the bunk whispering in a soft but urgent voice as he drew the sign of the cross on Mercy’s forehead and hand.   

   "Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.  May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up…”

   Logan rolled his eyes as he passed.

   “She’s not dead, Kurt.  And she’s not Catholic.”

   Wagner glanced up at his friend.

   “The prayer is for the Anointing of the Sick, Logan.  And I think Mercy would agree with me that it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

   Logan just snorted.  “I’m going to go sit up front with the flying tin can.”

   “I heard that,” Tony shot back.

   Sam chuckled.  “Guess I better go, too, keep those two from killing each other,” he told Steve.  His expression grew serious.  “You two will be good here?”

   Steve looked at the Winter Soldier, who just looked back.

    “Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Cap said.  He had no idea if it was the truth or not.

   Sam shrugged and headed for the seats nearest the cockpit.

   From the jump seat where he sat Steve realized this was the first time he’d been alone with Bucky, or Soldier, or whoever he was.  So much had happened in the last hour that his mind was struggling to make sense of it all. 

   Red Skull was back—or maybe he had never really gone away.  Mercy was dead—or maybe she wasn’t.  And Bucky was still…whatever he was now. 

   Steve honestly didn’t know where to start.  He’d been so fixated on finding Bucky that he’d never really had a plan for what would happen after. 

   The two men stared at one another in silence for a long moment.  Only the thrum of the engine and the soft background murmurings of Nightcrawler’s prayers could be heard.

   “I remember you,” the Soldier said abruptly.

   Steve jerked his head up.  “You do?”

   “Only bits and pieces.  It’s like looking through a broken mirror most of the time.  But, yeah.”

   Steve tried not to smile, and failed.  “What do you remember?”

   “Brooklyn.  I think.  Laundry hanging on the fire escape.  Playing stick ball. Like I said, nothing’s in order.  Some memories are stronger than others.  Sounds and smells, especially.  I remember the scent of those cheap oil paints you used to get at the five and dime.  And of,” Bucky’s eyebrows drew close together, “meatballs, for some reason.  Does that mean something?” 

   “Yeah.  There was this neighborhood Italian place, Manzetti’s—it’s still there, believe it or not.  Anyway, during the Depression Mr. Manzetti sometimes used to let us wash dishes in return for as many meatballs as we could eat.”

   “And you made yourself sick,” Bucky said, looking surprised at the memory even as it tumbled out of his lips.

   “Only the one time.  I hadn’t eaten in a while, and I overdid it.  Besides, he was a hell of a cook, old Mr. Manzetti.  I wonder if the current owners still use the same recipes.”  Steven sighed at the memory.  Then he leaned forward.

   “Listen, since I may never have the chance to say this to you again, I want you to know this--what you said in Marseilles isn’t true.”

   Soldier blinked.  “What did I say?”

   “You said that you couldn’t be the person I expected you to be.  But I don’t expect you to be anybody.”

   Soldier snorted, such a Bucky-like expression of disbelief that Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

   “No, I mean it.  When I first…saw you…”

   “When I first tried to kill you,” Soldier corrected.

   “I was trying to kill you, too,” Steve countered.  “When I first saw you of course all I wanted was to have my best friend back.  Everything and everyone else I knew was gone.  I have friends here, team members, but it wasn’t the same.  Seeing you, finding out that you were alive…it was like a goddamn miracle.” 

   He took a deep breath.  “Hell, as far as I’m concerned it is a goddamned miracle.  But I know that for you it’s something completely different.  And I’m sorry for that, so very, very sorry.  Jesus, you have no idea how sorry I am.  If I’d known…”

   “But you didn’t.”  Soldier shrugged. 

   “I should have put the pieces together after I rescued you from that factory.  If I’d known you’d survived I would have come for you.”

   “I know.”

   “I swear I would have.”

   “I know,” Soldier repeated.  “I know, Steve.”

   Rogers leaned back in his seat, startled momentarily into silence.

   “You know, that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name in more than seventy years,” he finally said.

   “Well, there’s no way in hell I’m calling you ‘Captain America,’” Soldier admitted.

   “Yeah, you never did.”  Steven smiled.  “Some people call me ‘Cap.’  Or ‘Capscicle,’ if you’re Tony Stark.”  At Bucky’s puzzled expression, Steve added, “Because of the ice.  I don’t know if anyone told you about that…”

   “Yeah. Mercy did.”

   “Oh.”  Cap glanced back at the front of the plane, where Mercy’s body still lay perfectly motionless.

   “Stark seems like a jerk,” Soldier said.  “Like his old man.”

   Steve shook his head.  “Howard had his faults, and I know the two of you never really got along.  But he was a good man, Buck.  And his son’s an even better one.  You’ll see.”

   Soldier was silent, and Steve realized his error.

   “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you that.  Old habits die hard, I guess.”

   “Magneto said I should take a name that meant something to me,” Soldier explained.  “And ‘Bucky’ doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.  I’m sorry, but it doesn’t.”

   Steve rubbed his hands over his jaw.  He needed a shave.

   “If I ever get my hands on him…”

   “Magneto?”

   “Yeah.  He used you.”

   “I used him, too.  I thought that if I just got to Lukin everything would make sense again.  That I’d find…I don’t know…peace, or however close to it I could get.  And Magneto helped me do that.  Not exactly how I planned, but…”  Soldier trailed off, glancing again at Mercy’s body. 

   He then looked back at Steve, and his eyes were as clear and resolute as Bucky’s used to be.  “Do you think Lukin was always Red Skull?  The whole time?”

   Steve shook his head.  “Red Skull died.  I saw him die.  His body was destroyed.  I don’t know how he came back in Lukin’s body, or why, or for how long.  I wish I did.”

   “It was always him, you know.  Other people came and went—Zola, Pierce…But Lukin was always there to give me my orders, and to make sure I was wiped afterwards.  I don’t know if it would make me feel better if he was Red Skull all along or not.”

   Soldier said this so matter-of-factly that Steve shuddered.

   “Guess it wouldn’t have changed how things turned out,” Steve offered quietly.

   “No, I guess not.”

   Both men were silent again for a long moment.

   “So, what happens now?”  Soldier asked him.

   Rogers shook his head.  “I don’t know.  Let’s get back to New York and get your friend some medical attention.  Then we’ll figure it out.”

   Bucky’s gaze grew distant.  Steve was quickly coming to recognize this expression as when his childhood friend began to withdraw into the darkness in his own mind once again. 

   Cap learned forward.

  “You’re not alone in this, Bucky, Soldier, whatever name you choose to go by from here on out.  You’ll never be alone again.  Me, Mercy, Sam, Tony, Logan and Kurt, the rest of the Avengers, the rest of the X-Men: whatever you decide to do we’re all on your side from here on out.”  He grinned.  “That adds up to some serious muscle and some even more serious brains.  We’ll figure it out.  I promise you that.”

   After a long moment Soldier nodded.

   “I believe you, Steve.”

   Those were probably the best four words Steven Rogers had heard in his whole life.

   Now he just had to make sure they were the truth.

* * *

 

   Stark was relieved to see that Pepper was waiting for them when the plane landed on top of Stark Tower. 

   Tony hadn’t been able to tell her much over the phone: there had been no privacy on the plane and he was entirely focused on getting them all home in one piece.  But when she smiled at him, and held out her arms, he knew she understood all he hadn’t said.

   When he finally finished hugging her he spared a glance for the large male mutant standing next to her.

   “Hey, Hank.  Long time, no see.  And I never really noticed before, but I have to ask: why are all of you mutants blue?”  Tony asked.  “Seriously, what is that all about?”

   “No one knows, exactly,” Dr. Hank McCoy told him with a slight smile.  “But it’s an interesting question, isn’t it?  And it’s nice to see you again, too.”

   “I updated Charles Xavier on what was happening, and Xavier sent Dr. McCoy,” Pepper told Tony.  “The med lab is prepped and ready to go.”

   “I don’t know how much use it will be,” Tony told Hank.  “I had it built after the invasion, just in case.  Didn’t want any of us relying on the tender mercies of SHIELD doctors.  You’re welcome to it.”

   “Thank you, Tony.”  Hank clapped him on the shoulder with one enormous, furry hand before going to examine his patient.  Kurt and Logan had moved Mercy’s body to a stretcher and were carefully carrying her off the plane. 

   She still looked like a corpse.  Tony shivered slightly.

   “What's wrong?”  Pepper asked quietly, wrapping one arm across his back.

   “Long story,” he told her.  “And an even longer day.  Or night.  Or whatever.”

   After the X-Men came Sam and Steve and the Winter Soldier. 

   Sam and Steve looked exhausted.  Bucky just blinked at the cold sunshine of New York in September, and at the skyscrapers all around them.

   “That’s him?”  Pepper whispered.

   “Yep.”

   “He looks…confused.”

   “Yeah, that’s probably the understatement of the century, sweetheart.”

   “I trust Steve.  I do.”  Pepper frowned a bit.  “But there are hundreds of people in this building, Tony.  Is it…safe?  To have him here?”

   “About as safe as it is to have me here,” Tony said without hesitation.  “He’s just jumpy.  Like a cat.  A really strong, assassin cat.  So don’t make any sudden movements around him.”

   “I wasn’t planning to,” his love said tartly as they followed the others inside.

* * *

 

   Tony knew he should play the good host.  But instead he excused himself to take a hot shower and change before he joined the others in the med lab.

   He’d had only a small part in the fight with Red Skull and the suit had protected him from most of it.  But he still ached like hell.  He couldn’t image how Sam, his fellow regular human, must be feeling. 

   But Sam clearly still did not trust Bucky around Steve.  When Tony did rejoin them he found all three of them standing off to one side.  On the surface it looked like they were all watching McCoy tend to Mercy, but Tony knew the truth: only Bucky was actually doing that.

   Sam was watching Steve, and Steve was watching Bucky.  The whole situation was so utterly and completely fucked up that all Tony could do was sigh.

   “Where are Logan and Kurt?”  Tony asked no one in particular.

   Hank was the one who answered.  “Kurt helped me get Mercy changed into a gown.  Then I sent them both to get some sleep.”  The large man had thrown a white lab coat on over his pinstripe suit.  The lab coat was straining at the seams to contain Hank’s bulk.  He looked like a furry blue investment banker playing dress up as a doctor.

   Tony raised an eyebrow.  “And Logan listened to you?”

   Hank chuckled as he fastened an IV to Mercy’s arm.  “Let’s just say I prevailed upon his better judgment.”  The mutant eyed Cap and Sam.  “Not that that worked with everyone…”

   “I’m not tired,” Sam lied quickly.

   “Those bags under your eyes tell a different story,” Hank retorted.  “But to each his own.”

   Tony had figured that, of all the Avengers, he himself was the most likely one to end up spending time in here.  So he had made sure the lab was light and bright.  He’d drawn the line at installing any murals or artwork.  But it was still as cheerful a micro hospital as could possibly be.  Every piece of equipment was state of the art: short of doing brain surgery a doctor would have everything he or she could possibly need.  Because they were on the twenty-second floor they also had a spectacular view of Manhattan.  Of the five beds only one, the one closest to the windows, was currently occupied.

   The Soldier was staring at all the electric monitors now attached to Mercy. Tony noticed Hank hadn’t bothered to turn the sound on for any of them.  He didn’t need to: they could all plainly see the flat lines on the monitor that showed a complete lack of any heartbeat, brain, or respiratory activity.

  Tony could only imagine what seeing all the medical equipment might be doing to the Soldier.  Bucky seemed tense but alert, his shoulders pulled in close to the rest of his body.  The metal hand was clenching and unclenching, almost as if the Soldier had subconscious control over it and it was a nervous habit.

   And maybe he did.  Tony hadn’t gotten a good look at the arm yet but it was clearly a serious piece of hardware.  Tony made a mental note to add it as another item on his “to do” list.  But he’d only examine it after he’d somehow convinced the Soldier that he wasn’t a threat.  Tony didn’t fancy having his head taken off, and at this point if the Soldier didn’t do it Cap just might.

   “How’s she doing?”  Tony asked.

   “The wound’s already starting to heal,” Hank said with a gentle smile.  “It likely won’t even leave a scar.”

   Stark was intrigued.  “How is that possible?  If her heart’s not beating, and we know it isn’t?”  He pointed at the flat line on the silent monitor.

   McCoy took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  “As best as I can explain it, when she is injured, or when she overextends her powers, Mercy enters into a form of suspended animation to conserve energy and to heal.  Her systems shut down, but not as they would in death.”

   “Does she know what’s happening to her?”  Soldier asked.  “Does it hurt?”

   He spoke in a calm, even tone. 

   Tony still winced a bit at the question, thinking of how often the Soldier had been put into cryostasis.  Had he been at all aware of what was happening?  Tony prayed to whatever God there was that Bucky had not been.

   Steve was clearly thinking the same thing: he made the smallest of sounds, as if he was in pain.

   “No.”  Hank’s expression was mild, soothing.  He smiled at Soldier.  “From what she’s told me she is not aware of anything around her while she is healing.  She cannot hear or see, and she does not feel the passage of time.  She falls asleep, and then she wakes up.”

   “So,” Tony said after a moment.  “Basically she’s Snow White?”

   Hank chuckled, and the rich sound seemed to ease some of the tension in the room.  “That’s not a very scientific diagnosis, Mr. Stark.  But if the analogy helps you understand then by all means do use it.”

   “Except in this case there’s no prince that’s going to come along and wake her up,” Sam said quietly.

   “I know a few.  I could send for one if you’d think it would help.”  Tony was only half-kidding.

   Sam just rolled his eyes.

   Hank pulled up a chair and settled down at the woman’s bedside.

   “There’s no telling how long she may be out.  It might be hours, or days.  Or longer.  I’ll sit with her until Kurt or Logan are up and around.  I suggest the rest of you get something to eat and some rest.”

   Before Bucky or Cap could protest, Tony jumped in.  “Good idea.  Right.  I’m thinking pizza.  Lots of pizza.  Hank, can we keeps some warm for you ‘til later?”

   “An excellent idea.  Anything with mushrooms, please.”

   “Fungi for the mutant.  Got it.”  Tony looked pointedly at his friends.  “Let’s go, guys, and leave Hank to it.  Jarvis, you’ll notify us if there’s any change?”

   “I will indeed, sir.”

   “Good.  Everything’s under control then.”  Tony looked pointedly at Steve.  “Cap?”

    With effort, Steve seemed to focus again.  “Yeah.  Yeah.  Food’s always a good idea.” He glanced down at his torn and filthy t-shirt.  “And I could use some clean clothes.” 

   “Me, too,” Sam finally admitted.  “And a shower.  I’m kind of ripe.”

   Steve glanced over at his oldest friend.  “I probably have something that will fit you, if you want to change, too.”

   The Soldier looked puzzled, as if this was the strangest question he’d ever heard.  Tony supposed he was used to standing around in dirty, blood-splattered clothes.

   But at last Bucky nodded.  “All right.”

   “Ok.  Everyone get cleaned up, I’ll order the food, and we’ll reconnoiter downstairs in twenty minutes.”  Tony grinned.  “I love it when a plan comes together.”

   “Seriously?  ‘The A-Team’?”  Sam said with a groan as they headed for the elevators.  “You’re quoting ‘The A-Team’ now?”

   “Yep,” Tony quipped.  “That show was a font of wisdom.”    

   “You know that these two have no idea what the hell you are talking about, right?”

   “Actually, I do,” Steve said tartly.

   “I don’t,” the Soldier corrected.

   “And that, my friend, is why Netflix was invented,” Tony told him.

 


	9. Ch. 9: New York, New York

Ch. 9: New York, New York

 

   Four days later Sam was in the gym at Stark Tower, doing sit-ups and wondering if it was too early to grab a nap.

   The whole superhero gig was a lot more tiring that he’d thought it would be.  After the attack in DC he’d wanted to sleep for days.  And now, after the events in Berlin, he was feeling that way again.

   He wondered if it wasn’t as much emotional exhaustion as it was physical.  He’d noticed the same thing on the battlefield: a guy could only be wound so tight before he just needed to hit the “off” switch for a while.  It was the same reason so many guys and girls at the VA has slipped into substance abuse after returning home.  There was always that need for escape.

   He flopped back down and took a breath.  Maybe Mercy had the right idea.  Just unplug from the world until you were ready to come back. 

   Of course she hadn’t come back yet.  She was still lying upstairs in that hospital bed, carefully tended by the monitors, Jarvis, and Hank McCoy.  The X-Men didn’t seem too worried—yet.  They took turns sitting with her, or they played cards together in the med lab, while they waited for her to return to them.

   He and Steve had had their own set of problems the last few days. 

   When he was awake Bucky seemed reasonably ok.  Every morning he showered and shaved and joined everyone else for breakfast.  He spoke very little, preferring to watch television or read or just sit quietly doing nothing.  From time to time a new memory would emerge and spark his interest.  Then he’d ask Steve about what it was and where it had happened.  Steve was always happy to share stories with the Soldier when he asked. 

   Most of those memories, Sam noticed, involved when they had been kids in the 1920s and 1930s.  He didn’t dare bring it up around Cap, but Sam suspected Bucky either did not remember anything about the war, or he was not sharing what he did remember with Steve.

   The Soldier also never spoke about what had happened to him since the war. 

   But it sometimes came up in passing.  At mealtimes, for example, Bucky never expressed any preferences for one food over another and often did not seem to recognize what was put in front of him. 

   Like Steve, Bucky had the metabolism of a super soldier and was always hungry.  But Bucky ate mechanically and without any evident enjoyment.  Sam guessed first the Russians and then Hydra had never bothered to feed their weapon more than the barest minimum, just enough to keep him functional, of whatever they’d had on hand.

   Bucky’s past came up whenever he’s get that distant, haunted, hunted look in his eyes, which was still several times a day, and whenever he started at loud noises and sudden movements, which was constantly. 

   And it came up at night, when Bucky would try to sleep only to wake up everyone with his screams.

   Sam could have kicked himself for not anticipating this.  If anyone had ever earned the right to have PTSD it was the Winter Soldier.  And PTSD was often at its worst a night. 

   At least Sam and Steve were the only other people with rooms on the same floor as Bucky.  If Tony and Pepper, or any of the X-Men, had also heard the screaming they were too polite to mention it.

   That first night in Stark Tower he and Cap had both rushed in to find the Soldier tangled in his sheets, huddled up against the wall with his eyes wide.  He was breathing very carefully, though, in through his nose and out through his mouth.  Sam recognized it as the same stress-reduction technique he had taught hundreds of men and women at the VA. 

   Sam had grabbed Steve’s arm.

   “He’s trying to calm himself down, Steve.  Let him.”

   “Are you out of your mind?  You heard him screaming!  Look at him!”

   “I know it’s hard, Steve.  He’s your buddy and you want to help him.  But if you touch him now you’ll probably set him off again.  We’ll stay here with him until he gets a bit more under control, and then we’ll ask him what he needs.  We need to keep it easy, and keep it light.  For his sake.”

   Sam knew how much it had cost Steve to just sit on the edge of the bed for those long, agonizing minutes while Bucky wrestled with his inner demons.  Above all else Steve was a soldier, and a soldier’s first instinct was to always protect a comrade.  But he had done as Sam had asked.  At long last the Soldier’s eyes had lost their wild look and he had focused on Sam and Steve.

   “I’m sorry I woke you both up,” he had said calmly.  “I have nightmares.”

   “I’ll bet you do.”  Sam had deliberately kept his tone gentle.  “But you’re holding it together.  Mercy teach you that breathing technique?”

   “Yes.”

   “Good.  Keep doing it.  It helps.”  Sam had looked over at Steve.  “You want us to stay with you for a while?  Hang out ‘til you’re ready to go back to sleep?”

   “I….”   The Soldier had swallowed hard.  “Yes.”

   Over the next few evenings Sam and Steve had come up with a system.  When Bucky awoke screaming they’d both go in to his room.  If one was more tired than the other they’d take it in shifts to sit up with him. 

   Often Bucky did not fall asleep again until morning, which meant a lot of long hours to talk about nothing in particular.  Once Sam had ended up trying to explain the entire plot of the original Star Trek series to the Soldier, just to keep the conversation going. 

   But Sam had understood that it wasn’t about what he said.  It was about soldiers keeping each other company, and keeping the howling dark at bay.

   While Sam was laying there on the mat thinking about all of this he was surprised to see the Winter Soldier himself enter the gym.

   Tony and Cap had not limited the Soldier’s movements at all.  He could have taken off for Moscow or New Jersey or any place else if he’s wanted to do so.  But other than going to the med lab to check on Mercy, and for meals, Bucky had not left the floor where his room was since he’d arrived.

   Sam sat up and grinned.  “Hey, man.  Here to work out?”

   The Soldier eyed all the fancy equipment.  “No.  It reminds me of the Red Room.”

   “Uh, you mean like the Red Room in Natasha’s report?”

   Cap had been dead set against letting Bucky see the paperwork Natasha had obtained for them on the Winter Soldier.  But Tony and Sam had both argued that Bucky deserved to know at least as much as the Avengers did about what had been done to him and why. 

   The Soldier had read it in private.  Sam had no idea how he’d felt about what he’d learned.

   “Yes.  That report was correct.  It’s a place for pushing people past their physical breaking point.”

   Anyone else might have freaked out at this comment.  But Sam quickly wiped the sweat off his face and stood. 

   “I get that.  But the only one who pushes me too hard in here is me.  Sometimes I don’t push at all, even though I know I should.  And rumor has it Bruce Banner sometimes teaches a yoga class in here, which sounds so awesome I just have to see it for myself someday.”

   “Bruce Banner is the Hulk, yes?”  The Soldier asked. 

   Steve had taken to heart Sam’s admonition to keep it easy, and keep it light with Bucky.  So when Cap sat up at night with his old friend he usually told him humorous stories about various Avengers.  Bucky knew his Avengers basics about as well as Sam did now.

   “Part of the time, yes.  I haven’t met him yet.  Well, either of them—Hulk or Banner.”  Sam smiled gently.  “But I doubt you came down here to talk about the big green dude.  What’s up?”

   The Soldier looked down at his boots.  Even in the civilian clothing Pepper had purchased for him—a blue t-shirt and jeans—he looked intimidating.  His metal arm gleamed slightly under the artificial light.

   “I wanted to ask you for a favor, if I may.”

   “Huh.  I mean, yeah, of course you can.  But, no offense, why aren’t you asking Steve?”

   The Soldier shook his head.  “He won’t agree with this.”

   “That sounds a little…ominous.”  Sam arched his eyebrows.  “What do you want to ask me?”  

   Bucky’s eyes were serious yet calm.

   “I want you to turn me in to the authorities.”

   Sam’s mouth fell open. 

   “Please,” the Winter Soldier added.

* * *

 

   “Absolutely not.”  Cap’s mouth was set in a grim line.  “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

   Steve knew he shouldn’t swear.  But he was so stunned at Sam and Bucky’s request that he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

   “Just listen to us for a second,” Sam urged.

   “No.  It’s out of the question.” 

   Steve turned to face the Soldier. 

   Bucky looked so calm, so resolute.  He hadn’t let anyone cut his hair, which kept falling in his eyes.  But other than that he still looked every inch the tightly-wound assassin.

   “How can you even think of something like that?”  Steve demanded of him.  “Are you…?”  Steve bit his tongue and let the sentence trail off.

   “Am I out of my mind?  As a matter of fact, I am, in a way,” Bucky said.

   “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”  Steve’s shoulders slumped a bit.  “I don’t think you’re crazy.  You’re just in a tough spot, but you’re making progress—you need to give it more time.” 

   He eyed Wilson resentfully.  “And I can’t believe the two of you went behind my back on this.  I thought we were friends.”

   “We are friends.  We’ve just been discussing his options.  And maybe we knew you wouldn’t take it very well,” Sam said with a grimace.

   “What the hell does that mean?”

   “Excuse me, Captain Rogers?”  Jarvis’ smooth mechanical voice came in over the    com.

   Steve rubbed his face.  “What, Jarvis?”

   “Mr. Stark and Professor Xavier asked me to tell you that Dr. Bennett is awake, and that you may come and see her if you like.”

   “Well, at least there’s finally some good news,” Steve growled. 

   “I want to see her,” the Soldier told him.

   “Fine.  Yeah.  Let’s all go up,” Steve said coldly.

   He couldn’t help but fume during the brief trip to the med lab.  He’d known that Professor Xavier had arrived late last night, but he had been too preoccupied with Bucky to pay much attention. 

   When he hadn’t been sitting up with his friend all night or trying to get him to eat Steve had been reading everything he could get his hands on: about PTSD; Stockholm syndrome; even about long-term outcomes for returned prisoners of war.  Anything that might help him understand what his friend was going through. 

   Cap had made the mistake of allowing himself to become slightly optimistic.  Bucky would have a long road ahead of him that was for sure.  He’d need to be surrounded with people who cared for him, and he’d probably need some intensive work with a therapist trained to deal with PTSD as well.  But he was remembering more of his past every day.  Steve had thought that was a good sign.

   And now this. 

   He didn’t know what hurt more: that Bucky wanted to leave, or that he’d gone to Sam with this first.

   As the elevator doors opened into the lab Steve hastily pasted on a smile.

   The X-Men were gathered around Mercy’s bedside, Hank and Logan standing on either side.  Kurt was seated on the foot of the bed, his legs folded up beneath him and his tail swaying happily to and fro like a metronome.  Xavier had pulled his wheelchair up next to the bed and was holding her hand. 

   Mercy’s strawberry blond hair had been neatly combed, and someone, probably Pepper, had given her a sweater to wrap around her thin hospital gown.  She was sitting up in bed, and she smiled at the newcomers.  For someone who’d spent the last five days as a near-corpse she looked remarkably well.

   “Hey, there you guys are,” Tony Stark said to Steve with a grin.  “Come and meet Snow White.”

   Mercy blinked.  “Say again?”

   “An analogy for your situation Mr. Stark developed,” McCoy explained to her.  “I’d suggest just going with it.”

   Mercy shrugged.  “Ok.”  She glanced over at the Soldier and her expression softened a bit.  “How are you?”

   “Fine.  You?”

   “Better now.”  She smiled and gestured to the old man next to her.  “This is Professor Xavier.”

   Xavier let go of her hand and turned the chair so he could better face the Winter Soldier.  “Hello.  I’ve heard a great deal about you.”  He held out a hand.

   Bucky looked confused and thus slightly panicked for a moment.  But after a second he seemed to remember the social niceties.  He shook Xavier’s hand with his own right one, the flesh-and-bone one.  “And I you.”

   “Mr. Wilson, Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark: thank you all for everything you’ve done,” the Professor told the rest of them.

   “And thank you for finding Caliban and bringing him home,” Mercy added.  “Magneto wouldn’t let me go back for him.  I’ve been worried about what became of him.”

   “Yeah, where is Gollum, anyway?”  Tony asked.

   “I’m afraid he refused to stay at the school for more than a few days, Mr. Stark, in spite of all my arguments to the contrary,” the Professor said with a sigh.  “No doubt he’s returned to the old Morlock tunnels by now.”

     “He feels safest down there,” Mercy replied.  “Don’t blame yourself, Professor.”

      “That does remind me…”  Xavier reached into his suit jacket and produced a small circular electronic device. 

   “Interpol returned this to me yesterday.  They discovered it as they were taking apart Red Skull’s laboratory.”  He eyed Kurt, and the blue X-man seemed to blush a bit.  “Nightcrawler, I trust you will return it to your uniform, where it belongs?”

   “Of course, Professor.”  Kurt quickly palmed the item and slipped it into a pocket before hopping down off the bed.

   “So it really was yours?”  Steve asked.  “I was wondering about that.”

   “Yes, each of my X-men had a unique homing beacon sewn into their uniforms that can be recovered and activated in an emergency,” Xavier explained.

   “So how did you get it?”  Sam asked Mercy.

   “I didn’t.  Mystique gave it to me.”

   Tony’s eyebrows shot up.  “Mystique?”

   The woman nodded. 

   “Before we arrived at our destination she told me Magneto was going to hand me as well as Soldier over to Lukin.  She gave me the beacon.  I knew Hydra would search me first thing.  So I buried it in under the skin in my arm where I could easily extract it again.  The wound had almost healed by the time we arrived and they were none the wiser.”

   Mercy frowned a bit.  “I do wonder if giving it to me was Mystique’s idea, or if Magneto put her up to it.”

     “Magneto double-crossing Hydra?”  Logan chuckled huskily.  “That would be something he’d do.”

   “I agree, but we may never know for sure,” the Professor replied.

   “But how did Mystique get it from you in the first place?”  Sam asked Wagner.

   Kurt looked at the floor.  “I gave it to her.  Some months ago.”

   Mercy reached out and squeezed his hand.  “I’m sorry, Kurt.”

   He smiled slightly. 

   “It’s all right.  It was in case of an emergency.  And that’s how it was used.  Now, if you will all excuse me I promised Amanda I’d call.”  He bent down and gave Mercy a gentle hug.  “I’m glad you are all right, Mein Freund.  Please don’t ever do anything like this again.”

   She hugged him back.  “I’m not planning on it.  And say ‘hi’ to her for me.”

   After Kurt had left the room Steve, Tony, and Sam all exchanged a look.

   “I’m still confused,” Tony said.

  “Me, too,” Sam admitted.

   “Why would Kurt have given his emergency beacon to Mystique?”  Steve asked Mercy.  “Aren’t you guys on two different sides?”

   Hank cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Mercy glanced sideways at Logan.

   “You didn’t tell them?”

   “It’s not my story to tell, kid,” Logan retorted.

   “No, I suppose it isn’t,” Mercy said thoughtfully.

   “Well, I hope someone’s willing to enlighten us,” Tony asked.

    “Mystique is Kurt’s mother,” Xavier explained.  “A fact which we—and Kurt himself--only discovered a year ago.” 

   Tony rubbed his chin.  “Wow.  Spoiler alert!  Just—wow.”

   “How is that even possible?”  Steve asked.

   “Mystique is much older than she looks,” McCoy explained.  “She is at least as old as the Professor—perhaps older.”

   Steve thought this over for a moment.  “So that means she’s the one who abandoned Kurt when he was born?”

   “Yes.”  Mercy looked a little sad.

   “Mother or not, I don’t think I could get past something like that,” Sam admitted.

   “No, I don’t think I could, either,” Steve admitted.  “Kurt’s a better man than I am.”

   “The Elf’s all about forgiveness, Cap—haven’t you noticed?”  Logan asked.  “What I really want to know is who else is freaked out knowing Magneto managed to reproduce at some point?”

   “Did you know, Professor?”  Mercy asked.  “About Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch?”

   “No, I did not.  If I had I should certainly have warned you.  But there are large portions of Erik’s life that remain a mystery even to me,” Xavier admitted.  “Although it does perhaps explain why the twins have both developed into such powerful mutants in their own rights.”

   “I’m not sure Quicksilver and Witch do know,” Mercy admitted.  “They looked…relieved to be rescued.  But I didn’t notice any particular signs of affection between them and Magneto.  Of course, Soldier and I were being smacked around at the time, so maybe I missed something,” she said with a grin.  

   “Kurt wasn’t the only one who received a package yesterday,” Xavier continued.  He withdrew a plain manila envelope from his coat and gave it to Mercy.

   “It’s got my name on it,” she said as she studied it.  “But no postage.  And it’s sealed.  How did it get to you?”

   “I’ve no idea.  And, before you ask, no, I did not peek,” Xavier said with a chuckle.

   Mercy tore it open, and a small flash drive dropped into her lap.  A folded piece of paper fluttered out after it.

   She picked up the flash drive and gripped it tightly.  Her pretty face flushed darkly.  “That son-of-a…”

   “The missing data?”  Hank asked speculatively.

   Mercy could only nod.

   “He promised it to her,” Bucky said.  When everyone looked at him he continued.  “Magneto. In return for her not making trouble while she was with the Brotherhood.”

   “I made plenty of trouble for him anyway,” Mercy finally ground out.  “And I paid for it, believe me.  He led me to believe the deal was off…”

   She took a deep breath before speaking. 

   “If I ever see him again I’ll kill him.”

   Logan snorted.  “Yeah?  Get in line.”

   “What’s on the paper?”  Tony asked.

   “Huh?  Oh.”  Mercy picked it up and opened it.  She quickly closed it again.  “It’s not for me.”

   She held it out to Bucky.

   “It’s for you.”

   Instinctively Steve reached out to intercept it, but Bucky was faster.  He gave Steve a cool, appraising look.  Steve quickly dropped his arm back down.

   The Soldier read it over quickly—it couldn’t have been more than a line or two.  Then, to Steve’s surprise, he handed it to Professor Xavier.

   “Is that his handwriting?”  Soldier asked.

   “Magneto’s?”  The Professor examined the paper.  “It is.  And, if I may say so, it’s very much something he’d write.”

   “What is this, an Agatha Christie novel?”  Tony demanded.  “What is it?  A death threat?  A mash note?”

   Soldier nodded at the Professor.  “Go ahead and read it aloud.”

   Xavier nodded.  “Very well.  It reads, ‘Who you were yesterday no longer matters.  Today you are Soldier.  Never let anyone tell you otherwise.’  It’s unsigned.”

   “Cryptic,” Hank observed.

   “Actually, it isn’t,” Bucky corrected.  “Magneto’s reminding me of something I said to him once.  That’s all.”

   “A pep talk from a megalomaniac,” Tony observed.  “How nice.”

   Steve took a deep breath. 

   “If you won’t take my advice, then take Magneto’s,” he told Bucky.  “Please.  Don’t go digging it all up.”

   “Steve, happy time, remember?”  Sam said quickly.  “We’re all happy right here, right now, ok?”

   Sam’s dark eyes were pleading with him not to start, but Steve couldn’t help himself.  His anger was getting the better of him.

   “Tell them, Soldier.  Tell the people who helped rescue you what you’re planning to do.”

   “OK, Capsicle is definitely pissed off about something.  Uh, subtext, please, Sam,” Tony demanded.  “Kinda lost here.  I’ve had a confusing enough day as it is.”

   “You’ve had a confusing day?”  Mercy said tartly.  “I’m the one who just started breathing again.”  She looked from Bucky to Steve and back again.  “What’s going on?  What are you planning, Soldier?”

   Bucky looked at Mercy.  “I’m going to turn myself in.  I have to.  Steve refuses to try to understand.”

   “Oh, I understand, all right.  You’re obviously itching to spend the rest of your life in prison, or worse yet in another lab somewhere.  It doesn’t matter who you turn yourself in to, Buck—the DOJ, the CIA, Interpol, MI5, MI6—that’s the most likely outcome.  There are plenty of people out there who think that’s what they should have done with me, and I’m not even a Soviet-trained assassin for hire.  I’ll be damned if I stand by and let it happen to you.”  Steve folded his arms across his chest in defiance.

   “Yeah, I’m gonna have to side with the guy who runs around in red and blue underwear on this one,” Logan said.  “Cap’s right, kid.  Nothing good will come of you turning yourself in.  Take it from somebody who knows.”

   “Thank you,” Steve said.  “And for the record it’s a uniform, not my underwear.”

   Logan rolled his eyes.  “Sure it is.”

   “No one’s talking about the CIA or Interpol,” Sam corrected.  “In fact we were discussing the DOD.  The US Army, to be precise.”

   “He’ll still be just another weapon to them,” Logan said.  “Don’t…

   Xavier held up a hand.  Logan saw it and quickly stopped speaking.  He stalked over to stare out the window instead.

   “Mr. Wilson, please continue,” Xavier said gently.  “We’re all listening.”

    “Cap, what you seem to be missing here is that Soldier isn’t dead,” Sam said quietly.

   Steve stared hard at him.  “I can see he’s not dead, Sam!”

   “And if he’s not dead then he’s AWOL.  And he’s been AWOL for more than seventy years.  You were both on a mission when he disappeared, right?”

   Steve swallowed hard as bad memories rose up unbidden.  “Yeah.”

   “Then he’s technically still Army property that's absent without leave.  Just as you or I would be if the same thing had happened to us while fighting overseas.  You can call him a prisoner of war if you like; hell, that’s what I’d call him.  And after everything that went down with SHIELD I get why you don’t want to trust anybody, Cap.  But there’re still good people out there, just like there are good people in here.”

   “Why, thank you,” Tony said, trying to lighten the mood.  He failed.

    “I can’t spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, Steve,” Bucky said softly.  “I won’t.  I’m not asking for my old life back; I’m not even asking for my old name back.  If they throw me in the brig it won’t be worse than what I deserve.  I just have to wipe some of the blood off the books.  You can understand that, can’t you?”

   “Buck…”

   “You don’t know how many people I’ve killed, Steve.  I don’t even know how many.  I don’t know their names and I don’t know if they deserved it or not.  But I see their faces in my dreams every damn night.  That’s a nightmare I’ll never be able to wake up from.  Maybe all my memories will come back.  Maybe they won’t.  It still won’t change what I've done.”

   The room was silent for a long moment.

   Steve finally turned to face Mercy.  “What about you?”

   “Me?”

   “Yeah, you.  You’ve been on this same road nearly as long as Sam and I have been.  What do you think?”

   Mercy look a deep breath.

   “I think…that it doesn’t matter what I think.”

   “Helpful.  Thanks,” Cap said shortly.

   “No, you’re not understanding me,” she corrected.  “The only thing Magneto got right—probably the only thing he ever got right, as far as I am concerned—is that Soldier has to make his own choices now.  Otherwise what is the point of him having survived for so long?  How can you, or I, or anyone else, now presume to stand in judgment and tell him what he should or shouldn’t do?  If we do that then he’s not really free at all, don’t you see?”

   Steve rubbed his face.  He felt exhausted, and defeated.  But he also knew in his heart Mercy was right.

   Xavier moved his wheelchair closer to Steve and looked up at him.

   “Mercy is correct, Captain Rogers.  Your friend has to be permitted to make his own choices, even if they are choices of which you do not approve.  Believe me,” he said with a small, wry smile, “I know of what I speak.” 

   The old man leaned forward again.  “Sam is also correct: I believe there are some individuals inside the Army who may yet prove themselves worthy of your trust.”

   “And,” Tony interjected, “while you’re getting all maudlin here all of you are forgetting one really important thing.”

   “What’s that?”  Sam asked.

   “PR, of course.  It’s always about public relations.  Look, we all know Soldier.  We know who is he, who he was, all that jazz.  Do you really think the Army could disappear him again?  Even if it wanted to?  Do you think they won’t know that, if they even tried, they’ll have Stark Industries and the Avengers and (and I hope I’m not speaking out of school here, Professor) the goddamn X-Men on them like Hulk on a baked ham?”

   “You’re not speaking out of turn at all, Mr. Stark,” Xavier said.  “Do continue.”

   “Not to mention the last thing the Army will want out is news that another super soldier survived WW2.  I worked with those guys for decades; I know how they think.  Pepper and I have been making very discrete inquiries.  I can tell you that Interpol’s trying to keep a lid on the Red Skull story.  But it’s going to leak out sooner or later and when it does the news media and the public will collectively wet their pants.  So, if we play this right,” Tony added, “the Army should be only too happy to get the FBI, the CIA, maybe even the Brits and the Europeans to stand down on this whole Winter Soldier thing.” 

   He was gesticulating wildly now, the way he did when he was excited about an idea.

    “Sure, Hydra and whatever’s left of the KGB will still want your head,” he told Bucky, “but, hell, they want the heads of everyone in this room so no big deal there.”

    “No, I suppose not,” Soldier said calmly. 

   “Leave it to Tony Stark,” Steve said heavily, “to make this about corporate leverage and public relations.”

   Tony shrugged.  “I’m right, though, aren’t I?”  He glanced across the room.  “Hank?”

   “The case Tony’s made is…oddly compelling,” McCoy admitted.  “Reminds me of why I never attend his product launches.”

   “And my product launches always succeed,” Tony reminded Steve.  “So?  Do we at least try?”

   Steve was silent for a long moment.  He knew everyone in the room, including Bucky, was waiting for him to say something.

   That was the problem with being the leader.  Sometimes you’d didn’t want to make the hard choices.  But you had to, for the good of the group.

   And this was probably the hardest choice he’d ever had to make.

   “Like Mercy said, it’s not my call.”  Steve nodded.  “Buck, if this is what you want to do then I’ve got your back.  100%.”

   Soldier smiled ever so slightly, and once again Steve saw the ghost of the man he’d once known flit across those features.  Then he was gone again.

   “Thank you, Steve.”

   “Don’t thank me just yet.” 

   Steve turned back to his fellow Avenger.  “OK, Stark—we’re going with your plan.  Where do we start?”

   “’We’ don’t start anywhere.  You and the Soldier lay low and keep your heads down, like you’ve been doing.  This is on Sam and me.” 

   Tony crackled his knuckles. 

   “OK, Sam.  Time to work the problem.  You get out your Rolodex, I’ll get out mine, and we’ll see which one’s bigger.” 

   “Did Stark just make a dick joke?”  Mercy asked aloud.

   “I’m afraid he did, yes,” Hank said mildly.

   She sighed and settled back against her pillows again.

   “Men,” she said to no one in particular.

   A moment later she was asleep.

  


	10. Ch. 10: Sargent Barnes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for hanging in so long! It's taken almost an entire year but who-hoo it's done!  
> Reviews are always much appreciated!

Ch. 10: Sargent Barnes

   Two months later…

  

   “She’s late,” Steve complained to Sam as they stood together on the steps of the nondescript federal office building in DC.

   “She’ll be here—you know what traffic is like,” Sam replied, turning up his collar against the cold November wind blowing in off the river.

   Steve hadn’t been back in the capitol since the disaster with SHIELD.  He found he couldn’t keep his eyes from going to the gap in the skyline where the Triskelion used to be.  He knew there was still heavy machinery down there trying to salvage bits and pieces from the bottom of the Potomac.

   As far as Steve was concerned they shouldn’t bother.  It should all be left down there, so they never forgot how close they’d come to letting Hydra win.

   “Sorry I’m late,” Mercy told them as she dashed up the stairs.

   “You’re on in ten.  Let’s go.”  Steve led them back into the building.  The three of them passed through several security checkpoints, the only outward signs that there was more going on inside than bureaucratic paper pushing.

   “You look nice,” Sam told Mercy as they walked.

   “Thank you, Sam.  Ms. Potts sent the outfit over.  Evidently this is considered power dressing.”

   Steve spared a quick glance for the mutant.

   The dress had a conservative cut, with a rounded neckline and a knee-length skirt.  It was divided diagonally: red on the top, and black on the bottom.  Mercy had pulled her hair back and there were pearl studs in her ears.  She did indeed look like she could be standing at Pepper’s side during a Stark Industries news conference.

   “Days like this I’m glad I’ve got the uniform,” Steve admitted.  “Less to think about.”

   “You both look very dashing,” she said with a smile.

   “I was just glad mine still fits,” Sam confessed as he straightened his collar again.

   As they arrived at the location Bucky’s lawyer stood up to greet them.  He extended a hand to Mercy, and they shook.

   “Thank you for coming, Dr. Bennett.  I know you’ve already submitted your affidavit.  But the generals have more questions I think you can help answer.”

   “I’ll help any way I can, Mr. Fields.”

   Thomas Fields came from the Army’s Judge Advocate General’s office.  He’d been both Tony’s and Rhodey Rhodes’ recommended first choice to represent the Soldier. 

   Steve had to admit he was doing a good job so far.

   More importantly, Fields was, as Natasha put it, “so clean he squeaks.”  And she would know: she had volunteered to dig deep into the lawyer’s background before the hearings even started.  Even now, unbeknownst to Fields, Clint followed him everywhere, watching him like, well, a hawk. 

   Of course Steve would have still preferred it if Bucky had not surrendered himself at all.  But since he had—quietly, discretely, with no one else present except the MPs, Steve, Tony, and Sam—he’d been treated well.

   Tony had been right about the Army trying to keep the whole business under wraps.  Bucky had been whisked away to a nearby army base.  There his identity had been confirmed by his fingerprints and by DNA taken from hairs found on some of his clothing on display in the Smithsonian exhibit. 

   Since then he’d been kept in a private cell under an assumed name.  He was allowed visits from Steve, but only Steve, on a regular basis.  He had his own yard for exercise and three meals a day.  He’s also been assigned an army psychiatrist, who’d been working with him to untangle the Winter Soldier’s past.

   There were hundreds of hours of tape now, recorded conversations between Bucky and Army investigators as they all tried to piece together everything that had happened since Sargent James Barnes had fallen from that train in 1944. 

   Steve had also been interviewed extensively, as had Sam and Tony, about the role that they had played in his return.

   Fields had decided (rightly, perhaps) that given the world’s general distrust of mutants he would downplay any connections between the Soldier and the X-men. 

   Logan had taken off for someplace in Southeast Asia called Madripoor before Bucky’s surrender, but he probably would not have come off very well in an interview anyway.  Xavier, Hank McCoy, and Kurt had all submitted written affidavits, as had Mercy.

   “Remember, this isn’t a trial: it’s just a preliminary hearing,” Fields reminded them all as the doors opened.  “This is such an extraordinary set of circumstances that the tribunal is still trying to decide what, if any, charges to file against Sargent Barnes.”

   “And how’s that going?”  Mercy asked.

   “I’m afraid even with me in the room some of his own taped statements have been pretty damning,” the lawyer admitted.  “And that’s why you’re here.”

   A uniformed man guided Sam and Steve to their seats, and Mercy and Fields to a small table in the front of the room.  Before them a long table had been set up, rather like the ones Steve had seen on C-SPAN, with a microphone and pitcher of water for each member of the tribunal.

   They were instructed to rise, and the four men and one woman who would decide the Soldier’s fate filed in.  All were three star generals or higher.

   They were on day four of the hearings, and it had been hard for Steve to watch.  He knew he and Sam had only been permitted in as a professional courtesy to Captain America, so he’d kept his mouth shut. 

   But it was difficult as the generals listened dispassionately to Bucky’s recorded testimony, and to army investigator after army investigator who appeared before them only to confess that they still didn’t know much more than Sargent Barnes himself did.

   Steve had been called to the stand twice, and Sam once, to clarify statements they had made in their own testimony.

   Cap found it all slow and stifling.  Give him the shield over a law book any day.

   “Are we ready to proceed?”  One of the generals asked.

   Fields nodded.  “We are, ma’am.”

   The general looked down at the papers before her, and then squinted at Mercy.  “State your full name for the record please.”

   “Dr. Angela Elizabeth Bennett.”

   “And what are you a doctor of, Dr. Bennett?”

  “I have an MD.  I no longer have a practice but my license is still current.  When I did practice I specialized in trauma and emergency medicine.  I also have a PhD in Biology, with a focus on genetic mutation.”

   “And according to your own written statement you are a mutant, is that correct?”  Another general asked.

   “It is.”

   This general took off his glasses.  “And what is your…power, so to speak?  May I ask that?”

   “You may, General.  I have what is known as a healing factor.  I can sustain bodily injury and heal from it much faster than a human without an “x” gene could.”

   “Like Captain Rogers?”

   “Not exactly.  We both heal quite quickly, but for completely different reasons.  Steven Rogers’ abilities were the result of an experimental serum administered well into adulthood, as I’m sure you all know.  My abilities were coded into my DNA naturally, at conception.”

   “So you do not consider Captain Rogers a mutant like yourself?”

   Steve frowned at this line of questioning. 

   Mercy titled her head to one side, contemplating that question.

   “That’s a source of a great deal of debate in the mutant community.  Most of us would, I think, say no.  Others consider individuals like Rogers and Bruce Banner at best as sort of honorary mutants.”

   This got a chuckle out of a few members of the tribunal.  Others continued to sit stone-faced.

   “And Sargent Barnes?  The man you know as the Winter Soldier?”  The female general asked.  “Where does he fit into this…scale of abilities?”

   “It’s not a scale, ma’am.  It’s a difference, that’s all.  But to answer your question…the serum that was administered to Barnes clearly produced somewhat different results.  For example, he also heals quickly, but not as cleanly as Captain Rogers or myself.  This has resulted in extensive scarring.”

   “And you know this because…?”

   “He allowed me to examine his cybernetic arm while it was being repaired.  The heavy scarring around the shoulder socket is not, I believe, from the initial injury, but from several different arms being installed and removed over the years.  By someone who didn’t really know what they were doing, I might add.”

   “And what else did you conclude about Sargent Barnes’ abilities?”

   Mercy was thoughtful for a moment.  “That he must have an extraordinarily high pain threshold.”

   Steve winced.

   “As a scientist yourself, can you speculate on why Sargent Barnes’ abilities vary from those of Captain Rogers?”

   “No.  Without Dr. Zola’s notes it is impossible to say.  Perhaps the formula itself was imperfect, or perhaps it was because it was administered against Sargent Barnes’ will. Add to that the elaborate and inhuman lengths to which the Soviets went to keep Barnes’ identity a secret, even from himself, and I don’t think it’s surprising he turned out quite differently.”

   There was some more shuffling of paper, and then another question came.

   “Dr. Bennett, Sargent Barnes has testified that he first met you when you were undercover at a Hydra facility in Germany.  Professor Charles Xavier and Interpol have confirmed this.  That’s an exceptionally risky thing to have done.”

   “At the time I felt I had no choice.”

   “Elaborate, please.”

   Mercy spent the next half-hour explaining what she and Hank McCoy had discovered so far about Hydra’s mutant experiments, and why she had been willing to risk going undercover to save as many as she could.

  Once Mercy was finished one of the male generals studied the papers before him again for a long moment and then cleared his throat.

   “Sargent Barnes states that you were the one who initially re-armed him.”  The general who spoke stared hard at his witness.  “Surely you had seen the footage of what happened here in DC.  Why on God’s green Earth would you do that?”

   “Again, I felt I had no choice.  It was a risk, but one I had to take to protect the lives of my patients.”

   “You were, as you yourself have said, with him for several weeks in the company of Magneto, a known terrorist.  And yet you say at no time did you feel threatened?”

   “By Magneto, and those with him?  Yes, sometimes. By Sargent Barnes?  No, I did not.”

   Several of the panel exchanges glances, clearly incredulous.

    “May I clarify?”  Mercy asked.

   “You may.”

   “I never felt threatened because he didn’t kill randomly.  He never did.  He was given missions, and his only goal was to complete them.  Even when Barnes broke free of Hydra’s control he only went after those who had created him in the first place, those who had harmed him.  And, as you read, several times Sargent Barnes went out of his way to protect me.”

   “And Magneto encouraged this?  Both Sargent Barnes’‘mission,’ and your relationship with him?”

   “As long as it also served his own purposes, yes, he did.  When it no longer did Magneto betrayed both of us to Hydra.  The rest, you know.”

   “And at no point in time did your relationship with Sargent Barnes become physical?”

   “Shit,” Sam murmured.

   “Objection!”  Fields said loudly.

  “Now I get why they asked her here,” Steve whispered to Sam.  “They think she’s lying to protect him.  Jesus.”

   Sam nodded back.

   “I don’t mind answering,” Mercy told the lawyer.

   After a long moment Fields nodded at her to continue.

   “If, as I assume, that’s your oblique way of asking if I ever had sexual intercourse with him, the answer is no, I did not.”  She looked as frosty cool and unruffled as Pepper herself.

   “Go, girl,” Sam whispered.

   “But you treated him?”  The female general asked.

   “Other than examining his arm, no, ma’am.  There wasn’t anything else physically wrong with him.”

   “And what of Sgt. Barnes’ psychological state?”  

   “I’m not a trained psychologist, ma’am.”

   “But you must have observed something of his mental state?  What did you make of it?”

   “Again, I don’t like to speculate, ma’am.”  After a moment Mercy nodded.  “But I will tell you two things that struck me about him.  The first is that he very rarely speaks, and usually only in response to a direct question.  The second is that he has a great deal of trouble sleeping.  We were on the same floor: he woke us all up screaming nearly every night.  Sometimes he was hyperventilating as well.  I taught him a breathing technique we used to teach patients in the hospital where I once worked.  That helped a bit.  But only a bit.”

   “I know you said you don’t like to speculate, Dr. Bennett, but I would appreciate it if you did for a moment,” another general asked.  “To what would you attribute those behaviors?  In your professional opinion, that is?”

   “It was clear Sgt. Barnes had been through a terrible ordeal.  He wouldn’t provide details.  His mind was trying to reassemble at least some of the information Hydra has tried to wipe from it.  But the more he remembered, the more traumatic those memories became.  Hence the nightmares.  I suspect they are his brain’s way of trying to cope.  He’s already made remarkable progress in the short time I’ve known him.”

   One general frowned.  “You sound as if you admire him, Dr. Bennett.”

   “I supposed I do, a bit,” Mercy admitted.  “I always admire those people who survive against the odds.  Those who, even when everything we think we know about modern medicine and the human psyche suggests they should have given in and died, live on.  Don’t you?

   At least one of the generals had the good manners to look at little chagrined at the turn the questioning had taken.

   “We have to ask these sorts of things, Dr. Bennett,” he admitted.  “It’s not pleasant, but it’s part of our charge.”

   “I understand completely, General.”

   “One more question, then, Dr. Bennett, if we may.”  The female general looked at her again.  “In your medical opinion, is Sargent Barnes a danger to society?”

   “Again, I’m not really qualified to answer that question, ma’am.”

   “I’d still be interested in your opinion on the matter.”

   Mercy was silent for a long moment before continuing. 

   “Sargent Barnes remembers just enough to know who wronged him, and how many times.  He’s stronger and faster than other men, and he always will be.  Does that make him a danger to society?  If I may answer your question with another question: do you consider me a danger to society?”

   The female general looked uncomfortable.  “I don’t know you, Dr. Bennett.  I only know what’s on the papers before me.”

   “Precisely.  And I would argue the same hold true for Sargent Barnes.  You know what’s been recorded on paper and on those tapes, but those won’t give you a real sense of who he is.  So I would suggest you listen to those of us who have met him, have spent time with him.  If not me, and not Mr. Wilson, then Captain Rogers, who has known Sargent Barnes longer than any of us in this room have been alive.  Once you’ve done that I think perhaps you’ll have your answer.” 

   Steve couldn’t tell if the general was happy with this answer or not.  “The witness is dismissed,” was all she said.  “We will take a fifteen minute recess before resuming.”

   Outside of the hearing room Mercy stopped and faced Steve.  “I’m sorry, Steve.  I think I may have made things worse.”

   “No, you didn’t.”  He gave her a quick hug.  “You did great.”

   “And, hey, at least we know what they’ve been acting so cagy about.  You shut that whole sex question down pretty quick,” Sam said admiringly. 

   “I’m sorry about that, Dr. Bennett,” Fields said as he joined them.  “I didn’t know that’s the line they were going to take with you.”

   “But why?”  She suddenly looked suspicious.  “Soldier didn’t…?”

   “He wouldn’t,” Steve assured her quickly.

   “No, of course not.  He didn’t say anything of the kind,” Fields told her.  “They’re just fishing.  They’re trying to wrap their heads around what’s happened to Barnes, trying to understand.  But I don’t think any of us really can.”  He smiled slightly.  “Although you three probably come the closest.  Especially you, Captain Rogers.”

   “Not sure that’s going to count for anything in the end,” Steve said quietly.

   “We’ll know soon enough.  After the end of testimony today they’re going to go into chambers and decide what, if any, charges they’ll file.”

   “How bad could it get?”  Mercy asked.

   “They could start with treason, and work their way down from there.”  Fields held up a hand. “I don’t think it will come to that.  But there are literally about a dozen other charges they could lay against him, any one of which will keep him in the brig for a long time.”

   “Can I be with him?  When the announcement comes down?”  Steve asked.

   The lawyer shook his head.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Captain.  We want to avoid any possible appearance of bias if we can.  Go home to New York, all of you.  Get a good night’s sleep and I’ll call you tomorrow as soon as I hear anything.”

   Steve took a deep breath, and nodded.

   “We’ll go back to New York,” he admitted.  “But I don’t think any of us are going to be sleeping.”

* * *

 

   Steve didn’t sleep at all that night.  Sam and Mercy kept vigil with him in Stark Tower, trying to distract him with television and idle chatter.  Finally they both fell asleep on the couch, Mercy’s head dropping down onto Sam’s shoulder.

   Steve threw a blanket over the two of them and let them sleep.  He sipped a whisky he knew wouldn’t get him drunk and ran his thumb over his silent cell phone.  He watched out the windows of the high rise as the sky slid from dark blue to black and eventually to blue again.

   And he waited.  
   

* * *

 

   “It’s freezing out here,” Sam complained the next morning as they walked towards Central Park.

   “It November in New York,” Mercy retorted.  “I said you could stay home, you know.”

   “With Captain Grumpy over there?”  Sam hitched a thumb over his shoulder in Cap’s direction.  “No, thank you.”

   It was a weekday morning.  Pedestrian and vehicle traffic hustled through the streets and down the sidewalk.  Other than parents with young children and the occasional jogger there were few people following them through the park entrance.

   “Besides, you were being so mysterious about everything this morning I wanted to see what you’re up to,” Sam said with a laugh.

   “Suit yourself.”  Mercy squinted into the watery sunshine.  She smiled as she spotted the faded umbrella of a hot dog cart.  “Fancy some breakfast?”

   A few minutes later the three of them were seated together on a bench.  The vendor had just been opening for the day, and the dogs were piping hot.  Mercy had ordered them with everything. 

   Cap had to admit they tasted pretty good.

   A rustling in the bushes behind him caught his attention.  To his surprise he saw a scrawny figured in a hoodie appear.  The hood cast his face into deep shadow.  But Cap would have recognized those oversized, luminous eyes anywhere.

   He knew better than to say anything, opting instead to elbow Sam to get his attention.

   Mercy was the only one who rose.  She smiled widely at Caliban and held out a hot dog.

   “I promised you one, didn’t I?  From your favorite cart?”

   Caliban nodded mutely.  He accepted the treat and turned half away from them, gobbling the food down in a matter of seconds.

   Sam grinned.  “Let me get you a couple more, man,” he said gently to Caliban.  “My treat.”

   Cap slid over on the bench to make room for the odd mutant.  “Hello, there.”

   Caliban, his mouth still full, nodded.

   “I don’t think she was sure you’d be here.  She’s been worried about you.  We all have been.”  Steve smiled. 

   “But you knew she was coming here today,” Steve said, nodding in the direction of Mercy, who was helping Sam wrangle half a dozen wrapped dogs.  “Mutant radar, right?”

   Caliban licked a bit of mustard off his top lip.  “Yes.”  His oversize eyes lit up like Christmas trees as Mercy handed him two more hot dogs.

   Steve’s phone rang.

   Everyone froze, except for Caliban, who was once again tearing into his food.

   Sam jabbed an elbow into Steve’s ribs.  “Go on, man.  Answer it.”

   Steven’s fingers felt numb as he stood and pulled out his phone.  He stepped a few feet away before taking a deep breath and hitting the button.

   “Yes?”

   He listened.

   “I understand.  Yes.  I will.  Thank you for calling, Fields.”  He barely heard himself as he spoke.

   He hung up and put the phone back in his pocket.

   Both Mercy and Sam were on their feet, waiting expectantly.

   “Well?”  Sam demanded.

   “Well?”  Mercy asked.

   “They’re not charging Bucky.”  Steven hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until it came out in a _woosh_.  “He’ll get an OTH.”

   “A what now?” Mercy asked.

   “’Other Than Honorable.’”  Sam clarified.  “The Army’s discharging him but it means his record’s not clean.  He probably won’t ever be able to reenlist.”

   “I don’t think he’s planning to,” Mercy said with a slight smile.

   “Should still be able to get his VA benefits,” Sam added.  “Although if he never gets sick I’m not sure he’ll need them.”

   “Well, you never know,” the doctor said sensibly.

   For the first time Sam realized Steve was frozen in place.  He laid a hand on Cap’s arm. 

   “Steve?  What else?  Are they gonna keep holding him?”

   “No.  Fields says the tribunal split on that.  But no.  They’re remanding him to custody as long as he agrees to see his therapists three times a week, and to cooperate with any continuing law enforcement or Army investigations.”

   “Whose custody?” Sam asked.

   “Mine.”  Steve smiled shakily.  “He can come home.  Bucky can come home, Sam.”

   Sam laughed aloud and hugged Steve.  Mercy did the same.

   Steve could feel his eyes filling with tears.  But it was too beautiful and too cold a day in Central Park for that.  He cleared his throat.

   “Does that dirty-water hotdog cart make coffee, too?”  He asked.  “Because I could really use a cup right about now.”

   “Yeah, dude was just making a fresh pot.  I’ll grab you some.”  Sam trotted off again.

   Mercy grabbed Steve by the elbow and sat him back down next to Caliban.  The male mutant was still eating, blissfully unaware of everything else around him.

   At that moment Steve thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

   Bucky was coming home.

   Steve wasn’t stupid.  He knew this was far from the end.  It was only the beginning of a very, very long road.

   But it was a start.

   Mercy looked at him and smiled.  She squeezed his arm.

   “So,” she asked.  “What are you guys doing for Thanksgiving?”

 

 

The End.

  

 

  

 

  

  


End file.
